I Lie For A Living
by jc44
Summary: While studying abroad, Bella falls passionately in love with a man she doesn't even know the true name of. Why? He's a spy, this much she knows. And not only does she fall for him, but for the dark and seductive world of espionage as well. ExB AH
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

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**Central Intelligence Agency Database**

DISCLOSED CLASSIFIED INFORMATION. HEREBY UNDER THE JURISDICTION OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL UNITED STATES, ADHERING TO THE CONFIDENTIALITY OF THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, THESE DOCUMENTS WILL REMAIN CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC.

**MISSION BRIEFING**

Name: Edward Cullen

DOB: June 20, 1988 – Age 20

Place of Birth: Chicago, Illinois, USA

Place of Residence: USA

Destination: London, England

Duration of Stay: One Year

Alias: Anthony Masen

Cover Preoccupation: Student

Cover DOB: January 8, 1989 – Age 19

Alliances: Secret Intelligence Service – SIS (MI6), Federal Bureau of Investigations - FBI

Photo Identification: Confidential

**NOTES**

Appearance: Height - 6'2. Weight - 180 lbs. Eye Color - Light Green. Hair Color - Reddish-Brown. Crooked smile. No apparent birthmarks. Pallid complexion. Walks with long, quick strides. American accent.

Other: Highly intelligent. Meticulous, highly organized. 20/20 vision. Excellent hearing. Tri-lingual: English, French, Russian.

ACCORDING TO THE PUBLIC OF THE UNITED STATES, THE EXISTANCE OF THIS INDIVIDUAL CEASES TO SHOW ANY EVIDENCE. TO THE PUBLIC, THIS OPERATIVE DOES NOT, AND HAS NOT EVER EXISTED.

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**Secret Intelligence Service Database**

RECORD FOR: Anthony Masen. DISCLOSED INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED. UNDER THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED KINGDOM, THIS INFORMATION IS NOT TO BE DISTRIBUTED.

Name: Anthony Masen

DOB: January 8, 1989 – Age 19

Place of Birth: Toulouse, France

Place of Residence: London, England

Preoccupation: Student

Photo Identification: No recorded or dated photos available

**CIVIC OBSERVANCE**

Appearance: Height – Around 1.89 m. Weight – Between 79 and 83 kgs. Eye Colour – Dark Green. Hair Colour: Medium Brown. Broad, even smile. Faint scar above right eyebrow. Pallid complexion. Walks with short, steady strides. Slight limp on left foot. English accent.

Other: Intelligent. Clumsy, disorganized. Near-sighted; requires black-rimmed glasses. Normal hearing. Monolingual. Orphaned. Cordial, affable.

THE EVIDENCE SUPPLIED IS NOT SUFFICIENT ENOUGH FOR DEPORTATION. INDIVIDUAL IS NOT CONSIDERED SUSPICIOUS. CONTINUANCE OF RESIDENCE IN THE UNITED KINGDOM IS PERMITTED ON THE BEHALF OF THE INDIVIDUAL.

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_He keeps a cyanide capsule in the earpiece of his black-rimmed glasses. One inconspicuous, thoughtful chew will kill him in sixty seconds if he chooses death over torture. They make him look like Buddy Holly; the glasses that he doesn't need. When he's not wearing his suicide disguise, he's wearing contacts which do two things: change his eye color to a darker shade, and scope out heat through a built-in infrared detector. He wears a grey peacoat, but if you look closely, the second button from the bottom of the hem is a microscopic video recorder. He wears a watch, one that can take up to twenty photos when he checks the time. Underneath the cigarettes in his pack is an audio recorder, and his accompanied lighter is actually a pistol. Flip the lid, spark the wheel and kill a man from ten feet away. He keeps two liquid vials in the side pocket of his peacoat: a vial of phenolphthalein – invisible ink, and a vial of cyclosarin – a gas which causes death upon asphyxiation. He avoids cameras, video surveillance and guards. He's brilliant and cunning, as well as dangerous and lethal. He's devilishly handsome and incredibly charming, while at the same time he can end my life in a matter of a nanosecond. Getting swept up into a passionate whirlwind romance with someone who lies for a living would be considered unhealthy, but I stopped caring too long ago. Kissing him is like kissing death. Making love to him is accepting that notion that I could be killed at any point in time. I'm allowing myself to cross into the seductive world of shadows. He lives a life of secrecy and deception, but astoundingly, loves with all his heart. I don't know who he works for, I don't know his mission. I don't even know his real name. All I know is that he's espionage, and I'm helplessly in love with him._

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**I just had to do a spy one. Don't hate on me, it was too fun :)**

**I suppose if you guys review I'll add more. It's your way of informing me this is good enough to continue with!**

**kisses, JennyCullen44**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

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It's been a week since I've landed at Heathrow Airport, exactly seven days. Seven days in England. I've made the decision to study aboard for the year, in hopes of discovering the populace gems of Europe. As a photography student, my first assignment in a foreign nation was to shoot a roll of people. Simple, right? No. The assignment was to shoot of _strangers_, a minor detail I'm entirely uncomfortable with. I've kept to myself for the past seven days, so the demand regarding a roll of people I've never met was out of the question. I'd managed to snap a few candid photos, although I have about five frames left on my roll. I need to fill them in say… ten minutes? I have class in thirty.

I had to hustle, hustle fast. I speedily make it from one block to another, via crosswalk. A car horn blasts at me as I avoid collision, and when I make it to the corner I sigh in relief. However, I still need to be punctual. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, camera in hand, I have a notion in my mind that being punctual to class is actually an option. That is, until I run straight into a man, causing the strap of my camera to fly off my arm and land with a crack on the sidewalk.

"I am so sorry." I manage, flustered. I bend to pick my camera up but a pair of leather-gloved hands beat me to it. I blink several times and straighten myself out of perplexity.

"I believe this is yours, Miss." It is the voice of an angel. His voice is enough to still my heart, and as it exits the other ear, I hold my breath. He speaks in a fluid, English accent and when I meet his gaze, my heart sputters.

He has a wide, even smile on his beautiful, beautiful face. His eyes, a shade of dark green, glint back at me and his sculpted facial features are topped with a disarray of tousled, medium brown hair. Disregarding his face, he has on a grey, stylish peacoat, accompanied by dark pants and black loafers. He wields a briefcase in one hand, yet in front of my face is his other gloved hand, wielding my camera.

"Thank you." I stutter, my eyes popping out of my head. He has _got_ to be a model.

"My pleasure." He smiles warmly, speaking in his accent once again. A local, I'm assuming. The chilly wind blows, causing his hair to ruffle. After gaping, I take the camera from his hand and examine it for damage.

"I'm very sorry about that, I was in such a rush." I huff, wide-eyed, and sling the camera strap over my arm again.

"Please, no, it was quite all right. I should have been wearing these, I didn't even see you I'm that nearsighted." His voice is musical and he brandishes a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses from his coat pocket. After another dazzling smile at me, he places them on the bridge of his nose. This stranger looks like a character out of an old war movie, or if I'd pinpoint specifically, Buddy Holly-esque.

"Well, anyway, I'm very sorry." I smile sincerely. After another nod from him, he starts to walk away. Still in shock at his beauty, he is about half a block down when I impulsively run after him. I sprint to catch up with him, and finally, I reach his side.

"Sir! Do you mind if I take a picture of you?" I hold my camera up while panting beside him. His green eyes stray from my device to my gaze and then he smiles apologetically.

"I'm terribly un-photogenic." His expression reads to be discomfited yet remorseful. I'm about to make a comment on his beauty when I decide to keep my mouth shut, purely because I don't know him. _But you could be a model_, I want to say.

"Sorry to bother you." I murmur in defeat and turn to walk away when the event that changes my life occurs.

Before my foot hits the ground, the stranger latches onto my arm and yanks me alongside him. He begins to guide me and I have to keep up with his quick, short paces. Nearly a second after, I hear two gunshots. I never saw the bullets, I never saw the person behind me fall. However, I hear the windowpane of the store shatter, I hear the screaming of the streets of London, I hear his voice breakthrough the bedlam.

"Look forward, don't look back. Don't speak." He says under his breath to me and I oblige, purely out of terror. We walk quickly, block by block, as the sirens grow nearer and the chaos heightens. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him withdraw a small piece of chalk from his pocket. As we walk without stopping, he runs the chalk against a post office mailbox. Then, the puts it back in his pocket. This occurs in no more than five seconds. With his hand still on my arm, he finally releases me.

"Miss," He doesn't look at me. He only looks forward. "You need to hold my hand. If you don't, you won't live through the night." My insides churn as I grab his hand and he continues to walk, no emotion washing over his perfect face.

Moments after, a sleek, black car mounts the curb. The stranger opens the back door, slides in and pulls me in with him. As soon as he slams the door, the driver accelerates, causing the wheels to squeal and the car speeds into traffic.

"Are his brains on the pavement?" The driver asks in a thick, Irish accent. He accelerates faster.

"No," My stranger mutters and stares out the window. "It was a hit to the arm. I told Mum to replace that bloody Hale kid. He can't shoot." The driver scoffs, readjusts his rearview mirror and locks his brown eyes on mine. He has lines bracketed around these eyes, indicating that he once used to frequently laugh. I freeze out of fear.

"Oy," The driver says raucously. "Who's the bird? She important?" He furrows his brow.

"She's my girl. From Toulouse," My stranger responds. He then turns to me. _"Desol__é__, ma ch__é__rie."_ He flashes a dazzling smile and I momentarily forget my fear. He gazes at me longer than he has since I've known him, and I return the stare. His face is set in stone, yet in his eyes is a softness that contradicts his entire demeanor. And despite my fear, my heart quickens and I pray that he's dropped his act for the sake of my emotions.

"Oh, come on, don't try to pull that crap on me, Romeo," The driver keeps one hand on the wheel and turns his body around to face me. I snap my attention away from my stranger and my eyes grow large.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" I squeak. He ignores me.

"She sure is a pretty little thing," He mutters. He weaves in and out of traffic, not even coming close to scratching another car. "Such a shame." He shakes his head.

"I'm sure Mum won't mind." My stranger says unemotionally. The driver scowls at him.

"Won't mind? She'll go bonkers," He resets his gaze on me. "How much have you seen, love?" I curl up into the seat and tears well up in my eyes from fear.

"I-I heard-d the gunshot-t and s-saw him make the m-mark," I point to my stranger. "On the m-mailbox. That's all, I s-swear." I stutter.

He shakes his head. "It's still too much. What a damn shame. I'm sorry, I am." My brain freezes.

"Sorry for what?" I stammer. The driver and my stranger exchange glances.

"We have to kill you. Look, I'm really sorry, love. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, you've seen too much." Remorse flashes across the driver's eyes and this is when I begin to cry.

"But I don't know anything!" I shake my head vigorously and hiccup. "I have no idea what's going on! I swear, I don't know what's going on!" I shriek and cower further into the corner.

"Oh c'mon, we don't have to kill her," My stranger finally says quietly. "I'll get her deported in one week, tops. Mum won't know." The tears stream down and I choke through my sobs. Although I'm in hysterics, his voice, dripping honey, assuages my thoughts.

"How in bloody hell are you going to beat the system? They've got eyes and ears all over the place. Christ, I bet this car is even bugged." The driver booms and finally turns around to face the road.

"I'll keep her at my place for a few days. Away from the public eye. She's obviously American, I'll pull some strings and have her deported next week." My stranger says calmly. The driver scoffs and my sobbing ceases although several tears dribble down.

"They'll bust your door down in three hours and burn you both on the stake." I sniffle and bury my head between my knees.

"That's why I'm counting on you that they don't." My stranger mutters darkly. The driver hisses incoherent words under his breath. Then, silence.

"Give me a fag then, if you're going to be a prick." The driver finally grumbles. I lift my head. My stranger snorts, pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and flings it without looking. The driver, who still keeps his eyes on the road, sticks his hand out and catches the pack without flinching. I gape at this interaction.

My stranger turns to gaze at me and I jump slightly at the intensity of his beauty. I wipe my tears on my back of my hand and get my last sniffles in. He doesn't blink.

"You missed one there." He says quietly and reaches his hand out. He brushes a single tear from the corner of my eye. I hold my breath and involuntarily tremble.

"Th-thank y-you." I stutter and squeeze my eyes shut.

"This thing is heavy. Try to get a smaller one." The driver interrupts in his thick accent. I reopen my eyes to see him flicking the base of the cigarette box. A metal sound reverberates through the air.

"Piss off." My stranger mutters and the driver laughs as he tosses the pack over his shoulder. The man next to me, just as the driver, catches it without looking. I hear the click of the driver's lighter and the car is clouded in smoke.

"What's your name?" He turns around again to gaze at me. His cigarette hangs out the side of his mouth, and for the first time, I notice he has curly, brown hair.

"Bella." I whimper.

"Full name, love." He doesn't blink.

"Isabella Marie Swan." I say quietly.

"And what are you doing in England?" I glance at my stranger; he's gazing at me calmly. Although I've known him for ten minutes I begin to instill a trust in this man.

"I'm studying abroad." I snivel.

"That makes things easier." My stranger speaks. His voice is fluid, soothing and dripping with saccharine.

"No offense to you, you're lovely," The driver nods at me then turns to my stranger. "But why's she so important? This'll get you killed." He takes a drag from his cigarette.

"Watch the road." My stranger mocks.

"You're a bleeding imbecile," The driver laughs and turns around. "It's not like you haven't killed before." He says through his teeth, the cigarette serving as a blockade.

My stranger says nothing as my insides freeze. Confusion envelops my core and all I can grasp is two things: these men are dangerous. Not only that, but they're some type of espionage. Yet which? Government Intelligence? Another branch? Foreign Intelligence? I gulp at the latter.

I glance at my stranger and refuse to believe he could be bad. He has a face carved by Gods, a voice crafted by angels. How could he be the bad guy?

"How long have you been here?" He asks and this is when I notice he's been returning my stare. I turn a shade of red and turn to look out the tinted window.

"A week." I squeak.

"Shame. You'll only have been here two weeks then." My driver interrupts. He's nearly done with his cigarette.

"Bella," I snap my attention to my stranger; this is the first time he says my name. To my hidden pleasure, I find ecstasy in the way my name slips through his perfect lips.

"Yes?" I ask him wide-eyed.

"Have you made any friends here? Any professors taken particular notice to you? Neighbors? Roommates? Boyfriends?" He says the last one faster than the others.

I shake my head. "I like to keep to myself." I admit meekly.

"You don't have a roommate?" He probes. I shake my head again and he clicks his briefcase open.

"So, if we made it seem as if you never existed in the UK, no one would miss you?" He gazes at me intently as he pulls out a sleek, silver laptop and clicks the briefcase shut.

"N-no." I stammer, my fear returning. He opens the laptop, turns on the screen and begins to furiously type.

"Oy," He grunts to the driver. "How many firewalls does it have?" I have no idea on what's occurring. I furrow my brow.

"Er, three I think." He responds. My stranger nods once and commences on clacking away at the keys. After a minute, he speaks again.

"The third one won't let me through." He scowls.

"Hack it." The driver says nonchalantly.

"I can't." He attempts again, I assume. The driver sighs.

"Christ." He mutters and presses a button before turning around in his seat once again. To my awe, the car continues to drive.

"Your car has autopilot?" I ask in disbelief. For the first time, the driver grins at me, yet he doesn't answer the question. He snatches the laptop from my stranger's lap and relocates it between us. From the corner of my eye, I see him scrolling through the green ones and zeroes of the mystery site's firewall. After a minute, his typing ceases.

"Bingo," He mutters and turns the screen so it faces me. I glance down to find my face on the laptop. "This you?"

I'm wearing my favorite blue blouse and my mahogany waves cascade down my shoulders. On my face is a close-lipped smile, and I'm immediately abhorred. It's my passport photo; the one I got renewed a week before I flew to England. My eyes look flat, my skin pale, my face haggard. I don't want my stranger to be reminded of my heinous appearance.

"Yes." I nod. My eyes stray and I take note the computer screen also lists my full name, social security number, place of birth…

"What do you prefer? Expulsion? Terminal illness? Death in the family?" The driver coughs once in his Irish accent.

"What?" I ask meekly.

"The American Government is going to want to know why you got deported." My stranger shuts the laptop while gazing at me.

"Oh…" I bite my lip. "I guess… illness." My heart beats faster.

"Atta girl. I say… malaria?" The driver looks at my stranger.

"This is the United Kingdom, not South America." The one next to me scowls.

"Piss off," The driver cracks a smile, causing the lines around his eyes to deepen; he has a face meant to smile. "An Orthomyxoviridae?"

"That could work." My stranger murmurs while clacking the keys on his laptop once more. The driver is momentarily distracted and turns to him.

"Remember to erase the IP address." He says. My stranger looks up and scowls.

"I know _that_ much." The driver laughs heartily and turns back to me.

"Anyway love, I think an Orthomyxoviridae will suffice."

"A what?" I blink twice.

"The family of influenza." My stranger murmurs and shuts his laptop.

"Alright, you will have… strand H1N1. It's a derivative of the Spanish Influenza strand. Ring a bell?" The driver cracks another smile.

"It killed millions of people worldwide…" I trail and he nods once.

"Clever. Parliament will have their knickers in a knot if they catch wind your pretty little self is walking around with a similar viral strand."

"Okay." I squeak.

"And… we are here." The car fishtails and jerks to a stop. I gulp and glance at my stranger.

He flashes a dazzling smile at me. "Welcome home."

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His apartment is meticulous, bright and scrupulous. Not a speck of dust is out of place, and the pieces of furniture are in perfect order. The walls are white, the paintings expensive, and the entire vicinity is highly organized.

I'm sitting on his bed with my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms around them and lay my head atop, praying that I'll somehow live through this. My camera is on the dresser, yet my stranger took out the roll out of precaution. I bury my face into my kneecaps and rock back and forth, attempting to escape my situation. Not even an hour after meeting this man, I'm already on his bed forced to live with him for a week.

"Hi." I hear his accented voice. I jerk my head up to find him standing in the doorway. His glasses and gloves are off, and he only wears dark dress pants and a plain, grey t-shirt. He curls his barefoot toes and rocks back on his heels. He's gorgeous, stunning, beautiful. I gasp and bury my face once again to hide my chagrin.

"Are you hungry?" He probes. I raise my head to find him next to the dresser. It's across from the bed, and although he's moved closer, he keeps his distance.

"I want to go home." I hug my knees closer and shake my head.

"I'm sorry about all this." He says quietly, the fluid words lulling me into tranquility. I sigh.

"It's okay." I lay my cheek against my knee and gaze at the wall.

"The accommodations aren't ideal," He coughs once. "So I'll take the floor. You can have the bed." I look up to find him gazing at me. It's incredulous; this gorgeous man, the man who can kill me if he so chooses, is now my roommate?

"It's okay," I mumble. "I'll take the floor."

"Please, no. Have the bed." He crosses his arms and it renders me speechless. I immediately fantasize what his appearance is shirtless and I have to hide my face from blushing again. Although this doesn't help; my mind continues to tug at the thought albeit the fact I've known him a mere hour.

"What time is it?" I finally ask.

"Around three," He drums his fingers on the dresser. "Would you like a nap?" He questions politely. I shake my head; I'm too aroused to sleep. It's silent for a moment when he finally clears his throat.

"If you need something, just call." He smiles slightly and then turns to leave.

"Wait," I call out. He looks over his shoulder expectantly. "What's your name?" He turns to face me again.

"Anthony." He smiles and I melt. Of course, I know this isn't his real name.

"You don't look like an Anthony." I bite my lip. The corners of his mouth twitch, yet they stay down.

"Then call me Andy."

"Andy," I repeat and blink. He nods. I unfurl my legs and splay them out, feeling torn. Then finally, I uproot myself from his bed and amble over to him. He gazes down at me although I ensure to stand two feet away from this gorgeous man.

"Andy?" I question. He tilts his head a fraction of an inch – beckoning me to continue. His eyes pierce my soul. "Why did you let me live?" He glances at the ground then back to me.

"You didn't deserve to die." His face is set in stone.

"What do you mean?" I furrow my brow.

"There are people out there who deserve to die." He says simply and callously, causing a shiver to run down my spine. The atmosphere is thick when I raise my hand – I'm trembling.

I touch his arm and he flinches. We stay locked like this, unmoving, our eyes boring into one another. The space between us buzzes with fear: his fear of growing too close and my fear of death. Yet fear isn't the only thing manifesting in this space; my twisted, involuntary passion for him does as well.

"Thank you for saving my life, Andy." I finally whisper and drop my fingers from his arm. His green eyes stray to my hand and then back to my gaze.

"You're welcome, Bella." He murmurs and then turns to walk out of the room. I crawl back on to the bed and curl up, allowing the events of the past hour to permeate my mind.

I end up napping.

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I wake with a jolt. At first, I have no idea on my whereabouts. When I roll over in the bed, I realize that this bed is too large to be my own. Then, I remember: running into the stranger, witnessing the failed assassination, entwining my life with espionage, risking it now as I stay at _his_ home. As the memories reel through my mind, I fling the covers off of my body. The room is dark, and I stumble my way to find a lamp. However, I slip and fall with a crack on the wooden floors. I emit a sound of pain as my ankle takes the brunt of the force and I attempt to stand. Almost entirely convinced my ankle is broken, I stand on one leg as I irritably switch on the lamp next to the bed.

Light fills the room and I realize the blinds are closed. On his dresser is a note. I limp my way to the wooden piece of furniture to pick up the white piece of paper. On it is his immaculate, curled script:

_Bella –_

_I've gone out for an errand. Food's in the fridge. Again, I'm terribly sorry._

Errand as in mission? I think darkly. Limping, I trek down the corridor and attempt to find the kitchen. Finally, after several minutes, I locate it. The time on the stove reads: 10:06 PM in green, glowing letters. I've slept for _seven_ hours? Grumbling, I limp to the fridge, open the refrigerator and commence on rummaging.

I opt for spaghetti. When I gather the ingredients, I shove them all onto the counter and go on my own, petty mission for a pot. I search, but to no avail.

"Where the hell does he keep it?" I mutter to myself as I limp from the island counter to the cupboards.

"Here." I hear the angelic voice. My heart stops and I jump ten feet in the air. If I had not placed the ingredients on the counter, they'd be on the floor. I turn to find him sitting at the island counter, the pot in his hand.

"When did you get back?" I ask, wide-eyed.

"A moment ago," He shrugs and spins the pot. "Regardless, I retrieved your belongings. Would you like to change before I cook you this?" He gazes at me and I turn a shade of crimson. Then, I glance down and notice I'm still wearing my crème blouse and blue jeans, causing me to blush even harder.

"How'd you get my things?" I stammer. He brandishes an item from his pocket, clicks it open and presents it to me. It's a set of picklocks. I blink several times. "How'd you know my address?" I bite my lip.

"Haven't you been paying attention? As long as I know your name I know everything about you." He doesn't blink.

"I don't think that's fair," I say. "That you know everything about me and I know nothing about you." He gets up from his seat.

"Let me look at your ankle." He states, ignoring me.

"How'd you know about that?" I cross my arms. He stands a foot from me.

"You're stubborn aren't you?" He tilts his head.

"You didn't know that." I mutter in a smug tone. He smiles slightly.

"Your name is Isabella Marie Swan. Your father is Charlie, a police chief. Your mother, Renée, is divorced from your father. She goes by Dwyer now, married to a Phil Dwyer. You're from Phoenix, Arizona. You're a photography student, studying abroad. You're nineteen-years old. Birthday: September 13, 1987." He smiles crookedly and I begin to involuntarily tremble.

"Why are you smiling crookedly?" I muster the courage to point out. The smile vanishes from his face, and again, he ignores me.

"May I look at your ankle?" His voice assuages and I succumb.

In his den, I sit on his sofa as he kneels on the ground. My swollen ankle is in his hands, and to my surprise, they are cold. As he examines the result of my clumsy injury, I bite my lip.

"It's apparent you're clumsy as well," He murmurs and looks up at me. I blush. "It's just a sprain. I'll get you ice." In a second, he's standing. In another five, he's back with a pack of ice.

"Thank you." I say quietly and take the ice. I press it to my ankle and lean my head against the cushion. He takes a fluid seat next to me and my heart rams against my ribcage.

"What you said before," He murmurs.

"What?" I turn my head to him. I'm not longer afraid of him; I refuse to believe this man is malignant.

"About it not being fair that you know nothing about me," He glances up at the ceiling and pauses. "It's best that way."

"Yeah… but it's… strange," I start. "You know my life story and I don't know your real name." He turns his head to me.

"What I do for a living helps people sleep at night. If it weren't for what I do, the world would be aware of the things that people like me prevent. It's best if nobody knows anything." He says in a low voice.

I flinch. "I'm sorry." I say meekly. He purses his lips and silently drinks in my appearance.

"Come on," He gets up. "I bet you're hungry."

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**I don't think it's very good but... hope you guys enjoy!**

**I'll probably update this one slower because I kind of favor my other story more =(**

**kisses, JennyCullen44**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

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I half expect him to be next to me when I wake up. To be curled up, susceptible and dormant, his keen senses oblivious to reality as they succumbed to sleep. Yet, he's not. My stranger, adhering to every sliver remaining of what was once a gentleman, spent the night on his apartment sofa. Or did he even spend the night? Was he out, combing the streets, preventing what ever it is he prevents? Of course, he's absent when I awake.

_Bella –_

_I've gone out. I'll return soon._

His note, on the kitchen island counter, reads. His immaculate script spills across the crisp page, and I once again find discreet delight in the way his letters curl to spell out my name. Hardly twenty-four hours have ticked by since my life had been involuntarily entwined with that of espionage, yet I've begun to instill a dangerous sense of trust in my stranger. Stupid? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. Can I help myself? No. Nor can I prevent the way my heart slightly falters every moment I see his sculpted face in my mind.

This is what twenty-four hours can do to a girl.

I turn the sheet of paper around in my hands as I lean against his white, marble counter. Of course, my weight is shifted on one side of my body due to the temporary and insignificant injury of my ankle. The atmosphere is tranquil and the air is silent as rays of buttery sunshine spill across the wooden floors. They permeate the windows and when the beams breach my skin, a sense of warmth bubbles from my fingers to my toes; the largest solace I've experienced, albeit my being in a complete stranger's home. In desperation to the preserve the sanctity of this moment, I close my eyes and slump onto the floor, against the sun-soaked counter.

Keeping my eyes shut, I drag my knees to my chest and allow the warmth of the sunlight to envelop me. The sun trickles and spills across my ivory skin, and the pallid pores of my body greedily welcome it. Despite exhaustion, my body refuses to drift into unconscious state. God forbid. Not on his kitchen floor. Lost in a swirling set of thoughts, after awhile the warmth hits my cheek, causing me to smile slightly.

"Enjoying yourself?" His voice, as splendid as can be, impedes the moment. My eyes fly open to discover my stranger sitting solemnly atop his stove. Heartbreakingly attractive as he was the day before, I choke down a gasp at his beauty. His legs dangle off the edge of the stove as he gazes curiously down at my position on the floor.

"I am." I manage a smile and daringly splay my legs out before me. My fingers release his sheet of paper and it floats airlessly into my lap.

"The sun hardly ever shines here." He fails to blink. My uncertainty succumbs to my bravery, a direct result of increasing comfort.

"It's shining now." I prod the man I do not know. He tilts his head slightly, and I note he sports his thick glasses on the bridge of his nose. Behind these glasses are his set of beautiful green eyes, yet I also take note that they are lighter than they were yesterday.

"Your eyes," I point out. "They're lighter today." He snaps his head upright at this observation and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"Maybe it's the sunlight." He muses. Possibly. His emerald eyes do sparkle in the beams of the sun, causing a shiver of desire to run down my spine. However, I shake my head.

"No, yesterday they were a dark green, like ocean water. Today they're so… light. Like gems." I gaze up at him and he brings a hand to his chin.

"You're quite descriptive in your observations." He murmurs and I nod.

"I'm –"

"A photography student." He finishes my sentence.

"Right," I smile. "You know everything about me." The corner of his mouth twitches and I distract myself by running the nail of my thumb into a groove within his wooden floor.

"On the contrary," His silky voice wafts. "I find you very difficult to read."

I ponder his statement for a moment but then finally disregard it.

"Can you take them off?" I ask softly, mesmerized by his splendid appearance.

"Take what off?" He responds in the same level of delicacy. However, his voice possesses a cautious edge.

"Your glasses." I lean my head against the wooden, sun-soaked panels of the island counter. I do not break my gaze with him.

"Why?" He blinks once, slowly, enabling his long lashes to sweep briefly across his alabaster skin.

I shrug. "I just want to see."

"You've seen me without them yesterday." He replies as the cautious tone does not cease.

"Oh… I guess I have." I mutter, defeated. I fail to mention that his eyes were not the gorgeous shade of jade they are now.

"But why?" He repeats as curiosity reigns over his prudence.

_Because you have beautiful eyes_.

"I don't know," I shrug. "It doesn't matter." My tone dismisses the subject and I torpidly begin to uproot myself from his kitchen floor. As I am erect, I attempt to hobble, in gratitude toward my swollen ankle, around the island counter. As I place his note atop, I grip the edge for balance.

However, as I turn he's sitting at the counter. I jolt briefly.

"You just pop out of thin air," I sigh exasperated. "Stop doing that."

"My apologies." He flashes a broad, even set of gleaming white teeth. I'm momentarily stunned.

"Your smile was crooked last night." I finally observe and the humorous gesture disappears.

"Why is it you're so observant, Bella?" He asks in a quiet voice, velvet smooth and dripping with saccharine.

"W-what?" I ask, entirely distracted by the caress of his honey voice.

"People usually are not this perceptive." He frowns.

"Sorry?" It squeaks through my throat as a question. However, I shake my head and regain composure. "It's not that hard to observe if we're living together."

He frowns again. "This may have been a mistake."

Fear trickles down the discs of my spine once more.

"What was a mistake?" I ask in a small voice. He raises his head a fraction and sets his emerald eyes on me. "Keeping me alive?" I quiver. An emotion streaks across his sculpted face, yet it is gone before I can decipher it.

"No, Bella," He responds in his velvet voice. "That was not a mistake."

"Then what was?" I nibble on my bottom lip.

"Bringing you here." He says simply.

"If… it's so hassling, you should have let that shooter get me. Or at least send me home." I scowl slightly and then drop my head.

"You think having you here is a hassle?" Genuine shock masks his voice and a rush of chagrin burns at my cheeks.

"Well it is. You have to hide me from the government." I murmur under my breath.

"It's not." He assuages. I raise my head to meet his gaze; he's not wearing his glasses. The sunlight spills across his perfect, sculpted face. Although paler in the light, his countenance radiates and I have to suppress yet another gasp of desire. His green eyes are further brighter in the sun, and they sparkle under the beams of the buttery daylight.

"What?" I gape.

"It's not a hassle." He smirks and I blink repeatedly.

"Pardon… one more time?" I clear my throat, bite my lip and turn a shade of crimson. He smiles.

"It's not a hassle to keep you here." His silk voice floats nonchalantly.

"You said it was a mistake." I respond flatly.

"A mistake, not a hassle. A mistake purely because of your observant nature." He spins his folded glasses on the counter into a blur.

"Sorry." I shrug. He grins and my mind returns to a blank state.

"Attempt to keep those comments unsaid while in public." He continues to spin the glasses, and as they blur, his eyes do not break my gaze.

"Public?" I furrow my brow. "I thought I was locked in your dungeon for a week." His mouth twitches again.

"Actually, we're going out tonight."

"What?" I repeat and deepen the crease in my brow.

"We're going out tonight." He repeats as my mind absorbs his fluid language.

"But you said I can't be seen –"

"I changed my mind." The spinning of his glasses stop and his rests his long, pale fingers atop.

There is not as a single sound in the room as we bore our eyes into one another.

"Why?" I finally ask apprehensively after a moment.

"I have a role I must upkeep in society." His lips hardly move.

"And how do I correspond with this?" I gaze at him and then run my fingers through my tangled hair.

"You'll be my date, of course." His eyes gaze intently at me. They don't blink. However, my heart implodes, sending a feeling of pure bliss to bubble within.

"To where?" I eye him warily after recomposing myself.

"The Royal Opera House." My stranger quips simply. My eyes grow wide in correlation to the increase of my heartbeat.

I finally scoff. "If you want to take me to the Royal Ballet in jeans, that's all I have." He smiles slightly.

"And that's why I bought you a dress."

I gape.

"W-what?" I stammer and he tilts his head a fraction.

"It's in the bedroom if you'd like to see."

We walk, shoulder-to-shoulder, to his room. However, when we arrive at the threshold of the doorway he leads. I linger in the vicinity of the doorframe when he approaches the bed, which is now tidied, and lightly runs a hand down the length of my new dress.

It's beautiful. Deep blue, strapless, floor-length, expensive and beautiful.

"Andy, I…" I trail in a soft voice. Stunned by his compassion and the unnatural way his faux name rolls off my tongue, I'm stricken in silence.

"I hate that name." He sighs quietly.

"Then what do you want me to call you?" I muster and take a step forward.

"I wish I could tell you, Bella." He murmurs and glances down at my dress once more. I take a few more steps toward the bed.

"You can tell me." I say softly. He raises his head to meet my gaze, and there is an unnamed emotion in his green eyes. We stare at one another and then, the emotion is gone.

"I can't." He shakes his head as I take another step forward. I stand two feet from my stranger and generate another boost of courage.

"I think you can trust me." I plead quietly. He gazes at me, his perfect face torn, before he breaks eye contact again.

"Be ready by 6:30." He changes the subject while keeping his eyes on my dress. I bite my lip and shift my weight.

"But-"

"You know where you find me." He says monotonously. Yet, I don't. However, I nod once.

"Thank you." I finally murmur inaudibly. I break my gaze from him to my dress as well and run a hand down the length, repeating his previous actions. I trace a finger across the hem and smooth the creases.

"You're welcome." He says silkily and snaps his head back to mine. I return the eye contact. His emerald eyes bore into me and I return the same gaze as his bedroom is silent for a second time. I imagine how his hand would feel in mine. I imagine how his hand would feel on my cheek. I imagine how his hand would feel on my back. Anywhere.

"You won't hurt me, will you?" I whisper. He doesn't blink and the silence continues.

"Do you think I will?" He finally says.

"No."

More silence.

"Don't think that." He murmurs.

"Why?" I quiver slightly.

"Because I can."

"But would you?" I prod shakily. It's silent again as he drinks in my appearance. After a moment, he decides not to evade a question of mine.

"No."

…………

The Royal Opera House is a ritzy, grandiose compilation of art and a fiscal façade. It is laden in glamorous set of gossamer and decadence, and so are the people milling within it.

"Are you joking?" I whisper, wide-eyed.

"Stay calm." He whispers back. I'm standing next to my stranger inside the walls of the opera house. He sports a sleek, black tuxedo, accompanied with a bowtie and shining loafers.

"How?" I mutter. I glance around more and note that the men are dressed in a similar fashion to my stranger, yet the women appear light years beyond my own beauty.

"Bella," He murmurs. I glance up at him and his eyes are darker than this morning.

"Yes?" I question.

"How well do you know French?"

"Not at all." I bite my lip and he sighs deeply.

"Can you at least say hello?" He gazes. I ponder for a moment and then nod.

"Why?" I fidget with the clasp of my necklace; it constricts the nape of my neck. He sighs again, lighter this time.

My stranger then brushes my hair aside and begins to slowly unclasp my necklace. His cool fingers send tingles down my spine and I hold my breath.

"Because," He murmurs while re-clasping my necklace, "You get to play a role too." I barely register his words. Rather, I focus on the cold touch of his fingertips on the back of my neck.

"Hmm." I respond, dazed.

"Bella," He repeats and lifts his hands from my newly adjusted trinket.

"Yes?" I snap back to reality and he chuckles once.

"Would you like to know what it is?" He gathers my hair in his hands and twists it once into the middle of my back.

"What?" I manage, albeit my ecstasy.

"You're to pretend your English is limited." He whispers into my ear. I shiver, but not from fear.

"So this is a mission too?" I whisper back. I can feel his smile near my cheek and he straightens himself.

Evading yet another question, he responds.

"Ready?" I turn to face him, shocked by the closeness of his body to mine.

"Yes." I gaze at him and bite my bottom lip slightly. He smiles broadly, takes a step backward and holds his arm out. I lift my hand and lightly place it on his forearm. I can feel the strength of his muscle underneath the tuxedo and my hole is dug deeper.

He smiles, close-lipped, and leads us toward the heart of the lobby. More glamour, more people. I blush lightly and brace for impact.

"Paul," His velvet voice impedes the atmosphere. "You remember Bella, of course." I glance up to find the driver from yesterday grinning down at me. His brown curls are tidier, and the lines around his eyes are deepened from the smile. He's dressed in a similar tuxedo to that of my stranger's.

"Bella," He booms in his Irish accent. "A pleasure, once again." I glance up at my stranger, wondering aloud if I have permission to 'speak English.' He nods inconspicuously.

"Hello." I manage a smile and this Paul, a fake name as well, leans in to briefly peck both sides of my face. Just yesterday was this man swerving in and out of traffic, attempting to preserve my life via transportation and the removal of my identity in London.

"Andy." He refers to my stranger. As they shake hands, this is when I notice a gorgeous woman on his arm.

She dons a flowing, red dress which hugs her flawless figure in a heartbreaking fashion. Her hair, a platinum shade of blonde, is pinned up into a sleek do and she has a matching shade of lipstick swiped on to her full set of lips. For a moment, he blue eyes flicker to meet mine and I turn the shade of her dress as I avert my gaze downward.

"Andy." Her ringing voice, an American accent, addresses my stranger.

"Lillian," He returns the greeting and I glance up to see him peck both her cheeks. As he draws back, he gestures toward me. "Lill, this is Bella. Bella, Lillian." I smile meekly in intimidation of her beauty.

Her face is sculpted from ice. "A pleasure." She smiles and holds her delicate hand out. I receive it and shake it once.

"Hello, Lillian." I attempt a stronger smile. She drops my hand after our introduction.

"So you're Bella." She gazes at me with her striking eyes. I bite my lip.

"Yes…" She turns to her date – the driver.

"Have you conveyed to Andy the potential repercussions?" There's an edge to her voice and I shift my weight uncomfortably.

"Fully." He responds simply. I glance up at my stranger and he assuages me with a single look.

"Yes, Lillian. Paul told me the repercussions." She snaps her gaze to my stranger and purses her lips. After a moment of silence she turns her to gaze to me.

"Are you worth it?" She doesn't blink. I furrow my brow.

"Pardon?" I tighten my grip on my stranger; a safety, a haven.

"If they catch him, are you worth his death?" She quips simply. My insides churn as I register this venomous beauty as a woman of espionage as well.

"I… What do you want me to say?" I respond bluntly. She tilts her head slightly.

"I just want to know if you're worth it."

"Lillian." My stranger reprimands in a low voice. She snaps her gaze to him, and after lingering for a moment, returns her gaze to me.

"Well," She says airlessly. "Your dress is nice," And then she tightens her grip on her own date and glances up at him. "Paul?" She questions.

"We'll meet you at the seats." He smiles from my stranger to I. After smiling back, the beauty and her jester turn to glide gracefully into the sea of people.

"She's right." I sigh and release my grip from his arm.

"No, she never is. But about what in particular do you refute?"

"I'm not worth it." I take a step away from my stranger. He follows.

"That's ridiculous." He murmurs close by.

"No, it's not. You don't know me, if you get caught, it's for something absurd." I mutter stubbornly.

"I'm trying not to know you."

"Good." I stop by a white pillar and cross my arms. He faces me with his hands in his pockets.

"And why is that good?" He tilts his head.

"I don't plan on having any type of relationship with you. Friendship, anything. I don't know you. We're both trying to stay alive here and it's best without a connection." I shift my weight and jut my hip, attempting to appear dominant. It's a lie.

He doesn't blink. "Neither do I." My heart falters, but I attempt to mask my disappointment.

"So we're on the same page." I quip and he smiles slightly.

"Same page." He agrees. Something explodes within me and I desperately desire to rewind time and take my statement back.

"Okay," I linger. "Good." I ache within.

"Good." I wait for him to remedy my venom, but he continues to remain silent.

"So?" I raise my eyebrows. He's trying to hide a smile. "What?"

"Nothing." His mouth twitches.

"What?" I repeat flatly.

"You're so stubborn." He rocks on the heels of his feet.

"It's best." I pout.

"That's cute." He stops rocking.

"We're not friends." I attempt to cease him.

"Your pout. It's very cute." The bubbling sense of happiness erupts within me once again but I attempt to cease that too.

"You're being too friendly. No connection, remember?" I muster.

"I can't make a comment on your demeanor?" He masks his sculpted, perfect countenance in innocence.

"You're too manipulative." I scowl. He grins.

"Let's watch the ballet, shall we?"

I succumb.

…………

During the Royal Ballet's performance, I fidget with the playbill. The theatre is dim as the four of us sit in reserved seats on a balcony. As the dancers exert their lithe movements down below, I continue to roll and un-roll the small booklet in my hands.

"Stop." My stranger whispers and places a hand on one of my own. I turn a shade of red and glance up at him. In the dimly lit opera house, I can still distinguish the intensity of his beautiful eyes. I oblige.

"Sorry." I mutter, yet his hand does not retract from mine. This causes my heart to thump against my ribcage.

Paul chuckles inaudibly next to me and my stranger finally withdraws his hand.

As the ballet performance continues, I cannot focus. I pass time by adjusting my outfit, fidgeting with the booklet and gazing at the sea of people below us. I ponder his mission, the purpose, why I'm here. Thoughts of espionage consume my mind, not the performance.

"What are you doing?" His lips are inches from my ear around thirty minutes later. My heart rams against my ribs and I inhale sharply.

"I'm just distracted." I whisper. He retracts and continues to watch the play.

Around ten minutes later, he leans into my ear again. I brace for yet another scolding on my lack of attention, yet what he says throws me off.

"I need to take care of something. I'll be back." He coos into my ear and I begin to tremble. I nod once in acceptance and he silently and fluidly rises from his seat. I glance at Paul tensely.

Another ten minutes pass and my stranger has not returned. What has arrived, however, is a nature's calling.

"Paul," I murmur. He grunts in response. "I need to use the restroom." He turns his head toward me.

"Go down the corridor and take a left." He whispers. I smile and clumsily rise from my seat. Nearly tripping over the hem of my dress, he attempts to suppress chuckles and I walk, flustered, toward the door. I turn the handle and silently close it behind me. However, I still hear the sweet strings of the violins from within the theatre. They vibrate lightly in the background as I shuffle down the corridor – as the driver instructed – and finally discover the restroom on the left.

I sigh in relief, but as I place on hand on the door to the women's restroom, the door adjacent, the men's restroom, barges open. A man staggers out, bewildered. His tie is sloppy and as he regains balance, he sets his eyes on me.

I freeze.

He points a finger at me and slews out strings of a foreign language. However, I do not need to understand the language to realize he's making a threat. I back away in fear, wide-eyed, as he advances. The foreign words continue to spill from his mouth as he reaches into the lapel of his tuxedo. I flinch, awaiting the brandishing of a weapon.

"I-I didn't do anything…" I stammer weakly the moment he withdraws a pistol. My mind reels to the self-defense my cop father taught me back in the States, but a pessimistic voice in my mind reminds me this man is most likely highly trained in such a category.

He continues his foreign malice and points the gun in my face. All thoughts of self-defense are eliminated and my mind goes blank. _This is it, _I think. _This is how I'm going to die._

The man cocks the gun, and as the metallic noise of the bullet being locked into place resonates through the air, the door to the men's restroom is barged open once again. Out comes my stranger with the look of death sprawled all over his perfect countenance. His tuxedo is slightly ruffled, along with his hair and my eyes widen. He spews a sentence in the same language as this man, causing him to spin around and point the gun at my stranger. I freeze once more and squeak. The man yells at him and thrusts the gun into his sculpted face.

"No!" I exclaim and boot the toe of my heel into the crease in the back of his knee. It buckles and he wheels around, anger enveloping his eyes as he now thrusts the pistol in the center of my forehead. I gulp and close my eyes; my mind going blank once more.

All I hear is a snapping sound followed by two thuds; the body of the man with the broken neck and his gun. My eyes fly open and I see my stranger retrieve the gun from the floor, the dead man's passport and several documents from the inside of his jacket. I whimper and take a step backward when he glances up at me. After stuffing the items into various places on his body, he slowly and cautiously rises.

"Bella," His velvet voice drips softly. He holds a hand out. "Bella, it's okay." He takes a small step forward and I take a step backward.

"No…" I tremble.

"Bella," He pleads. "Come here." He beckons. I shake my head fervently and continue to back up.

"Stay away from me." I whisper, tears welling up.

"Please." He whispers back, his eyes large and susceptible. I shake my head so the world is a blur, but then I back into the wall.

"Don't touch me." I croak. He ignores my request and steps toward me.

"Come here." He begs and holds his hand out. My vision blurs as the killer slowly slides toward me.

"No." I duck my head.

"Bella…" He whispers. He's now a foot from me.

"Stop." I demand weakly and turn my head to hide behind my curtain of hair.

"Calm down." He assuages. My stranger, a killer, brushes the hair from my face and I squeeze my eyes shut. The fact I enjoy the brush of his cool fingers against my cheek instigates a war within myself. My eyes remain shut as I shakily inhale and exhale. Tremors erupt and I tremble, pressed against the wall as the hand of the man I'm falling for, and the hand that just took a life, is smoothing away my strands of hair.

"I want to go home." I whisper. I don't open my eyes.

"I know." He murmurs in his velvet voice. It instills a calming effect, yet I attempt to fight it.

"Take me home." Images of my father, my mother, my life back home, flood my mind. Nostalgia and fear coerce to consume me as my stranger's hand remains laden on my cheek.

"Soon." He promises softly.

"Take me home." I shake my head and squeeze my eyes tighter.

"Bella."

"Now. Take me home." A tear trickles down from the corner of my eye and he swiftly wipes it away.

"Is that what you want? Right now?" At this, I open my eyes, but I do not meet his gaze. My vision is bleary and I keep my head turned to the side as I gaze at a potted plant next to the restroom door.

"Tell me, Bella." He says. It's silent.

"You just killed someone in front of me. How am I supposed to live with you?" I whisper and slowly turn my head to meet his gaze. His eyes plead.

"What do you want, Bella? To go home now? This instant? I can do that." I weigh my options: to leave and never see this man again; to forget the existence of these past two days. Or, to remain here; to potentially allow myself to fall for such a man.

"I don't know." I moan and my eyes avert to the ceiling.

"Tell me," He murmurs and gazes at me intently. "It's your decision."

* * *

**Err, yeah tell me if you guys like it.**

**I'm not crazy about it but then again, no author is a huge fan of their own work**

**Thanks for reading, it means alot**

**kisses, JennyCullen44**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

* * *

"I-I don't know…" I repeat, the tears blockading a proper vision of him.

"Indecision isn't helping you." He emits in a low voice.

"I –" Before I can spew a second word, he clasps his cold hand over my mouth and whisks me off into the men's restroom. I ignore how lavish a urinal can be and muffle against his hand when he begins to shush my attempts at noise retaliation.

"Don't speak. Do it for me." He murmurs into my left ear and I squeeze my eyes shut in acceptance. A half second later, voices waft in from the other side of the door.

The language is harsh, the words slice the air in an austere manner. I feel him shifting around behind me, causing my eyes to fly open. With his hand still clasped against my mouth, I wriggle around to catch notion of his actions. His hand is in his pocket, and hardly a second later a carton of cigarettes lays in the palm of his hand. I question him with my eyes and the look he returns me causes me to look downward. Then, he withdraws his hand from my mouth and taps the carton once, twice, three times. After straining to hear, I can distinguish the slightest hint of a metal reverberation. I open my mouth to ask what this contraption is, but he shoots me a hushing glance. I grudgingly oblige.

Moments laced with cutthroat anticipation tick by, but the voices on the other side of the door have not ceased.

"Где Владимир?" A man hisses and my eyes pop at the language.

"Я не знаю." A second man growls and I once again twist myself in my agent's grasp. I nearly forget to remain silent, as my curiosity overcomes my fear. Of course, there are no slipups in this stranger's presence. He clasps his left hand over my half-open mouth once more as his left airlessly holds the cigarette contraption. Questions swim within my eyes and he silently shushes my internal thoughts with a single, fractional raise of an eyebrow. The muffled chatter ensues on the other side, and I begin to squirm. At this moment, the agent swiftly swoops downward and presses his cool lips to my ear. I shiver.

"They're coming in now." _They're coming in now._ I flinch and retract a step from the swinging, ivory doorway. "Hide." He breathes into my ear. The air trickles in, mingling, before sending a quiver of simultaneous desire and fear down the length of my spine. This time, I oblige without grudge. He releases me from his grasp and I sprint into the closest stall. The lock snaps into place and I gather the hem of my dress into a meshed ball of fabric within my cupped hands. My agent begins to whistle. In anticipation, I sit on the toilet, lift my feet off the ground, and place my head between my knees.

He whistles as I wait. My eyes are closed, my heart throbbing through my head, the darkness dancing with his whistling tune.

The back of the door slams the wall with a crash.

"Gentlemen," My stranger greets warmly. "How are we this evening?" The clacking of loafers reverberates off the marble floors.

There is a second of silence. "_You_," A man with a husky voice and thick accent demands. "Who are you?"

"Why would you need to know, good Sir?"

"Tell us your name." A higher, snippier voices snaps.

"I don't see why that's necessary." My stranger's calm voice says simply. There is a growl, shuffling, and a sickening metallic snap: the cocking of a pistol.

"Vhat eez your name?" Man One barks.

"Surely the refusal of revealing my name does not merit a bullet in the head." I freeze at his sentence and imagine the heartbreaking scene of my agent with a gun to his temple. In turn, I fold farther into myself and silently hope to no one that he will not die.

"You are a _stupid_ Brit."

"Thanks, Comrade." He issues cheerily. A sound of frustration rips through someone's throat as there is the sound of fervent movement and the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Vun last chance." The mental image now shifts to my stranger on the marble floors, his oppressors looming over him with loaded artillery. My eyes tighten, causing a throb to ensue within my head.

"Only one?" The accent is English, the accent belongs to my stranger. He chokes a single laugh before I hear three things: a gunshot, a sickening crunch and Russian shouts. Oh God.

Another crunch, another flinch. And for a moment, silence. I wait. And wait. And wait. The silence is oppressive and enveloping and I decide that waiting will drive me toward the embrace of insanity. It grows tiresome and I slowly unravel myself, slinking off the toilet and unlatching the lock. The stall door creaks as I peep around, but what I absorb is not the littering of Russian corpses. Rather, the white marble is still ivory. No pooling of blood, no dislodged teeth, no bullet shells. I draw my brows in and patter lightly toward the sinks.

"So, Comrade. Would you like to have a chat?" My stranger leans casually against the sink counters with a pistol in his hand. He flips it once in the air and catches it without granting the move any discretion. His back is turned to me.

"You vill learn _nothing_." The enemy spits onto my stranger's shining black loafers. He splays mangled and broken on the slippery floors.

My agent glances briefly as his soiled shoes. "That's not nice."

"Act tough, but not tomorrow." The victim struggles in broken English.

"Or what? Your KGB friends will hunt me down?" My agent muses with a chuckle.

"They vill do more… than kill you." He spits blood.

"Sounds smashing." Andy scratches the back of his brunet head with the nuzzle of the pistol and I instinctively step forward to warn him. "Don't move, Bella." His back is still turned, yet his command enables me to freeze. The man on the floor shoots me a searing gaze and I flinch in retaliation.

"She? Another? Thees girl works for your fucking MI6 too?" Although mangled and paralyzed, he emits a growl.

"No."

"Lies." He hisses.

"I _do_ lie frequently, Comrade. But I can assure you, I'm speaking the truth. But enough about the girl, we've other business to attend to. This is your _vun last chance_." He mimics in a perfect, gruff Russian accent.

"Burn in hell." This time, he spits blood onto his loafers.

Again, my agent glances down briefly. "Fine. Now answer one question."

"Never."

"How would you like to die?"

There is silence. "Vith dignity."

My stranger nods his head in pondering and acceptance. "Grand. Ready? This is an ode to your silence." He cocks the pistol and directs it. Hush.

I close my eyes. "Для России!" Boom.

There is a gunshot and proceeding silence. My eyes stay shut and I issue a whimper.

"I don't expect you to let me touch you." His honey voice wafts near my vicinity. I clench my fists and stand exceptionally still.

"You're right." My voice cracks.

"I'd love to stay and convince you to allow me, but I'm afraid we need to scat." There is a smile in his voice and the hairs on my body raise.

"Fine," My eyes open. "I'm out. Let's go."

He flashes a smile and tucks the pistol into the inside of his suit. "Did I mention you look dazzling tonight?" That crooked grin is still plastered on as the clacking of his bloodied loafers ensue toward me. I end up letting him touch me when he carefully but firmly clasps onto the crook of my elbow. He leads, but before we exit the restroom, we pause at the looming door.

One finger erects. Two. Three. Gone.

There is an abrupt breeze as he tugs me. A gust of air whooshes as the door shuts behind us and we are sprinting. Sprinting from the vacillation of life and death is certainly not ideal for the uncoordinated. Especially in heels. After consistently tripping on the hem on my trailing dress, Andy sighs heavily and pauses as we reach the top of the lavish staircase. He shoots me one glance, grazing over my appearance before scooping me up in his embrace. My heart rams against my ribcage as he nonchalantly carries me down the stairs. Now in the public eye, mingling bystanders pause to stare apprehensively at us. Yet because the ballet is still in procession, we only receive a handful of raised eyebrows.

"Nice night, isn't it?" He swivels his head and chippers. I have to muffle a giggle. Giggling in the arms of a killer – way to be, Bella. My proximity to my stranger sends waves of intoxication throughout my head. His scent, the coolness of his skin, the grazing of his breath near my cheek. When we reach the glass and grandiose doors, the brisk air nips my face.

"You can set me down now." I scowl and he grins before setting me on my feet.

"I didn't want you tripping down the stairwell like the lithe creature you are." His glorious laughter echoes off the street and I huff. Again, he places his hand on the crook of my elbow and sprints. I attempt to follow suit before _déjà vu_ occurs. A yellow Lamborghini squeals around the corner, entailing the screech of the tires against the asphalt. The engine revs as it speeds toward my stranger and I, popping up on the curb before Andy already has the doors hanging in the air.

"I know, I know. It's a beautiful car, but do, please, get in before we get sniped."

"Good idea." I mumble and slide in. I stumble and trip into the crammed back seating vicinity and the moment he robotically closes the door behind him, the velocity of the sports car reaches highly illegal speeding limits.

"Cover her up. She can't be associated with any of this." An angelic voice demands from the drivers seat. Something is thrown – a blanket – into the back and I curl up into the fetal position. My stranger cranes around from the passenger seat to accordingly place and pat down the blanket over my coiled body. The car slows to a stop and there is a knock on one of the windows.

"Hello." The driver purrs. Lillian?

"Sorry to bother you, Miss, but have you seen this man?" The accent is light and I surreptitiously peek out from underneath the blanket. Lillian, my correct assumption, is holding a photograph of the man I recently witnessed dying in the restroom. The corner of Andy's mouth curves slightly.

"I haven't, no." She flashes a brilliant smile and fluffs her platinum locks.

"Oh. Thank you for your time," The man gazes, enraptured, with her beauty. "Gorgeous car for a gorgeous woman, by the way."

"Ha," She laughs dramatically. "You're a darling." She coos, bats her lashes and speeds away. The ride is smooth. Hasty, but smooth. The smell of the leather seats fills my nostrils as I press my cheek into the expensive material. I wait. And wait. And wait. And in what should have been no time at all, the vehicle slows to yet another stop.

"Get her out, quick." Lillian trills and I throw the blanket off. The car is dark, the dashboard being the only source of light. The outline of Andy's profile is prevalent as he opens the automatic doors and beckons for me to crawl out. Due to the fact I nearly fall face flat onto the pavement, my stranger once again scoops me up into his arms. I am crimson. The three of us rush inside the mystery vicinity, and once the door is shut behind us, lights are flicked on and Lillian bolts the door with a twenty-seven locks and chains. The foyer is simple with hints of megalomania. An Oriental rug splayed here, an oil painting hung there.

"Come." Andy beckons and I follow the two beautiful agents down a corridor. After walking through a tunnel of darkness, more lights are flicked on to reveal an ordinary kitchen.

"A kitchen?" I raise my eyebrows and my stranger chuckles.

"You act as if there's supposed to be a secret cave."

"For Christ's sake, I _hate_ wearing these." Lillian hisses and swiftly lifts the hem of her blood red dress to reveal a white, lacy garter. It sits in the middle of her milky, ivory thigh as it holds a sleek revolver in place. She rips the garter from her leg and tosses both the bunched fabric and the gun into her sink. It clangs.

Andy chuckles. "Mary forced the lace factor upon you, I presume?"

"They itch," Lillian scowls. "We females suffer while you get to prance around with them in the inside of your jackets." She scoffs and removes the pins from her hair.

"I suppose it is unfair."

She rolls her eyes and removes the final pin, allowing her tresses to sweep down her graceful back. I make the mistake of catching her eye.

"You," She directs to me. "Sit." I do, but not without pondering the whereabouts of her hostility. "And you," She points to Andy. "_She_ wants to talk to you."

His face falls flat and I grow alarmed; this is the first occasion in which he's lost a sliver of composure. "Does she really?"

"Yes. She's pissed." Andy sighs and brushes through his now-untamed hair with both hands.

"Fine." He sits across the table from me. Lillian disappears momentarily, leaving Andy and I alone. No words are spoken, but he gazes piercingly at me – his emerald eyes tranquil and dangerous. A treacherous haven. A gorgeous, treacherous haven.

"You better hope it's Mary." Lillian reenters the room with a slim, sleek laptop tucked under her arm. She sets the silver computer up before him.

"I pray." He mutters. Dim lighting washes over his sculpted face as the laptop gains access to its business and he places a single finger onto a pad. _Scanning_, the robotic voice of the computer iterates. Several seconds later, his face turns green from the mirrored lighting on the screen. _Welcome, Mister Cullen_. Cullen? Andy Cullen? He meets my gaze for a flick of a second but then resumes his attention toward the transmission. _Beginning transmission. Sending feed._

"_You_," A pealing voice permeates the room. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Hello to you, too, Mary." Andy grins.

"Lucky prick." Lillian murmurs under her breath and Andy flashes her a grin.

"You also have no idea how difficult it was for Paul to clean up the _mess_ you made." The woman, sounding no older than thirteen, trills.

"My apologies." He nods.

There's a scowling noise. "You think you can get off that easily. Next time, they'll put a bullet in your brain if you're that sloppy again."

"I had… an off night." He amends.

"I'd love to continue flaming you for dicking around, but HQ wants to speak to you." Her tone is peeved.

"Ha. Couldn't get out of it." Lillian iterates smugly and Andy fails to suppress a sigh. He mutters something incoherent under his breath.

"Fine. Put her on, then."

"Have fun. I'll speak with you later. I'll swing by in the next day or so. Oh, and Cullen?" This woman, Mary, issues dryly.

"Yes, Mary?" He asks sweetly.

"Fix your stupid hair. You don't want J ripping you _two_ new assholes." He grins and I further melt.

_Transmission ended_, the laptop informs.

"You're in for it." Lillian checks her nails nonchalantly.

"No need for reminders." He grumbles and proceeds to pat his flyaway hair.

_Contacting Headquarters. Beginning transmission. Sending feed_. There are several beeps, and my stranger's face is now highlighted blue from the mirrored effect of the screen.

"Hello." A venomous, highly feminine voice drips into the atmosphere.

"Good evening, Jane."

"So what happened tonight?" It is apparent this is not a question meant to be rationally answered.

"I'm sorry." He hangs his head slightly.

"I thought you were one of our best agents," She snaps. I furrow my brows – did he not kill the men? Jane answers my internal question. "You're never that sloppy about it."

"I had no _time_, J."

"No excuse," She snips and he re-lowers his head. "Get it together next time or you'll realize the repercussions."

"Of course." He raises his head and nods.

"Do you understand?" She pronunciates each word.

"Yes." His posture is rail thin and rigid.

"Good," She coos. "Moving on. Did you record anything? Anything at all?" Again, he nods and retrieves the carton of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then play it." She scowls and he obeys by tampering with the box. A moment later, scratchy conversations flow from the packet.

Russian gibberish is all I manage to catch.

"Well?" Jane asks. "What are they saying?"

"They're planning to tap into American phone lines." He responds, stone-faced. He understands Russian?

"And? What else?" She demands.

"That's it - other than they were looking for their pally, Vladimir."

"Well, we need to find out why," She snips. "I want every potential KGB location bugged."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And is Lillian there?"

"Here, J." Lillian maneuvers around the table so that she is in the transmission's view path.

"I want you and Paul to do the rigging."

"Okay." Lillian nods once, rigid, just as Andy.

"Am I clear to both of you?" Jane issues icily.

"Clear." He nods.

"Clear." Lillian follows suit.

"Good. Don't mess it up, especially you, Cullen." Jane snips.

_Transmission ended_, the mirroring light off Andy's face disappears. He swiftly shuts the laptop and emits a loud, heavy sigh. A thousand thoughts spill throughout my mind and I attempt to reassemble every last one. This is too much.

"Your name isn't Andy." I state softly. His green eyes snap to mine and he exchanges glances with Lillian.

"And my surname isn't Masen, either." He jokes. This is the first time I've heard his aliases' last name.

"And I bet you aren't English." I don't relent.

"That's something you don't need to know." He issues coolly. I ponder for a moment where I belong. An art student, bustling her way to classes, or vacillating on the line of shrouded world of espionage and the light of reality. The latter is not my place.

"I… trust you guys. But I can't keep up with this." I rise from the table and scoot the chair out from beneath me. Lillian raises her eyebrows. I trod my way out of the kitchen, into the darkness of the corridor, leaving behind this beautiful, flawed world. Before I walk further into the enveloping blackness, an icy hand grasps my wrist.

"Bella." His honey voice drips.

"What?" I backup into a wall.

"Don't leave." An edge of soft pleading cakes his voice. It is this I have to ride on; I can't see his face.

"Are you insane? I need to leave before I get more involved."

"But you're already _too_ involved. You can't leave. We'd have to kill you."

My insides freeze. "I swear I won't… tell anybody." Pleading now envelops _my_ voice.

"Bella. I would have gotten you out in a week, but you had to witness my mission. You witnessed the transmissions – everything. I shouldn't have taken you out tonight, it was a mistake. I'm so sorry." His tone is remorseful, his fingers are still wrapped around my wrist.

Hot tears fill my eyes. "So what now?" Silence.

"I can still… attempt to deport you." The electricity of our proximity sparks my adrenaline, and the tension thickens.

"Can you try?" I ask meekly.

"Yes." And a pang of regret enters my stomach.

"Am I going to die?" I finally issue.

Silence. "I don't know."

"Well…" I've reached an epiphany. "Can you also try?"

"Try what?"

"To keep me alive. Keep me holed up at your place. Deportation can't take that long."

He chuckles and I breathe relief. "Deportation takes no time at all. It's how we're going to do it underneath both public and Intelligence scrutiny." The coolness of his skin grows nearer to my own.

"I shouldn't have agreed to go out tonight." I choke a laugh.

"It was my mistake. I am so sorry." He says gravely. We stay locked in this position, the electricity of our tension being the only source of figurative light.

Again, it is silent. Again, it is blackness. Again, my heart rams my ribcage. Again, I want to take this stranger to bed.

"Don't worry about it." I finally whisper and we defrost from our positions. Reluctantly, I slide out from the wall and reenter the lit kitchen. At the prescence of light, the tension between Andy and I disappears.

We exchange glances. "Well?" Lillian places her hands on his silhouetted hips. "Does she want to die or not?"

"She's chosen life." My stranger smiles charmingly.

"Yeah… life." I smile shyly. She stares at me, a torn expression on her Botticelli face.

"Come here," She finally sighs. "I'm going to clean you up."

…………

"I think he likes you." Lillian juts her hip out and displays two nightgowns: periwinkle pink and creamy yellow. I choose the latter.

"What?" I smooth the fabric in my hands.

"He's always staring at you."

"He's trying to keep me alive." I refute, albeit her intimidation. She bustles back into her closet to return the pink nightgown. When she reemerges, she leans against the quaint dresser of her bedroom.

"Well," She breezes. "You _are_ cute."

I blush. "But look at you."

Obviously receptive to compliments, she smiles, close-lipped and brushes a graceful hand through her platinum tresses.

"Thanks." She begins fluffing.

"You're welcome, Lillian."

She makes a face. "Such an obnoxious name. If you _must_, call me Lill."

"Oh okay. Well… I'm Bella. Yeah…" I mumble.

"Yes, you don't like Isabella. I've been informed," I smile and she straights out her posture. "Throw that on, Bella. You're tired. At least _you_ get to sleep. Oh, and here." She unzips the back of my dress, flashes a brief grin and glides out of the room.

I torpidly let the blue dress fall to my ankles. I step out of the sea of sparkles and proceed to slip on the foreign nightgown. It flows, yet its snug. When I turn to the mirror to undo my hair, I note Lillian's observations. I have dark, purple, bruise-like circles underneath my eyes. Haggard. Awful. I wince at my reflection, mainly because this is how my stranger consistently views me.

There is a knock at the door.

"Come in." I call, distracted, as I lightly trace the circles.

"Hello." His beautiful voice impedes.

I jump. "Oh. Hi." I smile, exasperated.

"I would just like to bid you goodnight," He nods and indicates at my bags. "You need some sleep."

I'm crimson. "Oh yes um… Goodnight!" I step toward him.

"Right. Goodnight, Bella." His hand twitches but it stays in place before he turns to leave.

"Wait." I call out and he pauses at the door.

"Yes?" He casts a glance over his shoulder.

"Be safe tonight." I murmur, causing him to smile crookedly, sincerely.

"I'll try. Sleep well, Miss." Both his tone and emerald eyes are soft and they burn an image of perfection and infatuation into my frazzled mind.

I sleep soundlessly that night.

* * *

**Sorry for the obnoxiously late update. I don't have time to do**

**anything anymore. Still... no excuses! Oh and I'm also sorry for the**

**short length of this chapter. Regardless, thanks for reading :)**

**Happy Earth Day. Go Green !**

**kisses, JennyCullen44**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

**Author's Note: The beginning portion is a dream. It is meant to be abstract**

* * *

"Bella," He coos and beckons with a finger. "Come here, love." He's serene, beautiful, as he permeates an aura of light. Enraptured, I saunter toward him, obeying his every whim.

"Yes?" I question, my frustration increasing as he is so distanced.

"Why don't you come here?" He grins gloriously.

"I'm trying." I muster, trudging my way through nothingness.

"Faster." His smile stays plastered.

"I can't." I breathe, exasperated, as my legs sink into the ground.

"Faster." His tone drips malice, albeit the continuance of that perfect smile.

"I _can't_." I gasp as my knees buckle beneath me. I fall into the ground, waist deep. Earth fits into the niches of my toes, my pores and the cracks in my skin. I feel the dirt seeping, and then I feel nothing at all. My legs cease to prove their existence to me, causing me to scream. At this moment, I am surrounded by a shroud of darkness, an overwhelming darkness, and I glance upward. He stands there, grinning, his smile beaming with light.

"Get up." He requests with malicious saccharine.

"My legs aren't working." I cry out.

"Please?" He raises an eyebrow, his glinting smile still present.

"I can't. Please help me." I ball my fists as my deadened legs increase in weight.

"Fine." He frowns and I wince. He swoops down to embrace my waist and I am erect before I can blink.

"How? I was just… I..."

"Bella." He grins and the absence of feeling returns, crawling up my legs.

"What's happening to me?" I sputter, alarmed, as I grasp onto his arms.

"Oh, Bella," He chuckles in an assuaging manner. "Nothing is happening to you."

"Yes there is." I shriek as I feel my body succumb to the deadened weight. My feet sink into the ground once more and I drill my nails into his suit. The prominent darkness shifts, stirs and finally gives way to thousands of people. People dressed in black, austere suits. People wearing dark shades, administering a joint appearance of shadow.

"Calm down." He smiles still, and I shake my head.

"No. My legs… The darkness…"

"Calm down." He repeats and thrusts his angular face inches from mine. Those eyes bore into me, and I realize that I don't have to feel anything apart from the ramming of my ribcage and his lips on my own.

"Okay." I widen my eyes and grip tighter onto his muscles, hidden beneath his layers his clothes.

"You're fine, Bella." He coos, causing my heart to sputter. However, my brain being aware that this is not right, succumbs pathetically to my heart.

"I'm fine." I repeat shakily.

"Good." He muses and I ignore the shadow people. I ignore the deadened feeling of my body. I ignore everything but his face.

"You can let go of me now." I murmur.

I am ignored. "I think you are so beautiful." He grins and presses his freezing lips to my collarbone. I shiver with pleasure, that is, until my skin begins to fade into a pale blue. Hypothermia.

"Stop." I shudder and plead.

"No." He growls lucidly and plants kisses of ice up my neck.

"I'm getting hypothermia." I cry out, my teeth chattering.

"No you aren't." He says simply and hungrily kisses my cheek.

"S-stop." I whisper, my arms frozen over. I cannot move.

"Why?" He whispers back and meets my gaze. He brushes his lips across my cheek to meet my own. It is a gust of ice as a glacier implodes within my mouth and I begin to shiver severely. He doesn't stop, to my simultaneous pleasure and fear, but as he enters my mouth, my body loses its last sliver of feeling. I am frozen, frozen into a sculpture of human ice. I don't stop kissing him, I can't stop. I begin to cry, yet those years do not reach my cheeks. They turn into ice droplets, freezing the rims of my eyes. I cry harder, to no avail. There are no tears. Yet at this moment, there is a minute sliver of feeling against my heart. My beautiful stranger smiles against my lips as the corner of his mouth raises.

There is a deafening boom and an overwhelming abundance of heat. It surges throughout my body, thawing every last cell to limb. Initially, my frozen self is grateful, but the heat becomes too much. It bores itself into me and my frozen tears now spill down my cheeks, onto the ground. A fire in my heart blazes and it spreads, spreads to my fingers, to my toes and to my brain. I fall, but the only feeling is the heat of the fire. It continues to blaze and I sob, yet my sobbing is in no league for the laughter that erupts. The darkness, the shadow people, begin to laugh so hard that it is deafening. Laughter, darkness, heat.

"What?" I sob and touch a burning arm to my heart. My fingers are red.

"I think you are so beautiful." He repeats, looming over me with a grin and a smoking pistol.

"Why would you…" I choke through tears and blood.

"Goodnight, Bella." He grins and joins in laughter with the darkness.

"No!" I shriek, yet my vision blurs.

"Goodnight." He blows a kiss and walks away, laughing.

I wake with a jolt from my nap, pants furiously escaping me as I collect my matted tresses within my hands. In Lillian's quaint bedroom, the analog clock reads 14:00. 7:00 AM in the States.

"Christ." I inhale shakily and attempt to forget the sensation of the surreal revolver against my chest.

"Bad dream?"

I rocket upward and clutch the frothy, delicate blanket against my chest.

"Oh. It's you." I exhale and gaze apprehensively at my stranger in the doorway. He leans effortlessly against the woodwork, donning a plain, gray t-shirt, beige khakis and no socks. His hair is wild, untamed, dangerous. Yet his countenance displays a hint of mockery, and that coy, sarcastic demeanor is enough to eliminate the sleep from my eyes.

"Hi." His lips vacillate between a smile and a line.

"Hello." I avert my gaze downward and curl my blanketed knees to my chest.

"You seem… dismayed." He muses, that mocking glint in his green eyes shining.

"I had a bad dream." I huff and slowly peel the blanket from my legs.

"So I've observed."

"Well," I mutter and lumber off the bed. "It was just a dream."

"A dream?" He raises his eyebrows and I smooth Lillian's nightgown down my thighs. "Or a nightmare?" His tone is ominous as I cease my movement and meet his gaze.

"A nightmare." I confirm warily and a smile breaks out across his perfect lips.

"Those can be quite merciless."

"What time did I fall asleep?" I attempt to change the subject, as reminders of the substance of my nightmare stand before me. He crosses his arms and reigns control.

"Noon. What was it about?" I sigh and amble my way toward the door.

"Why?" I mutter and shiver against the coolness of the room; yet another reminder of my dreamt death.

"I'm just curious." He shrugs.

"You." I iterate as I slide past his shoulder in the doorway. He emits a laugh, hearty and amused.

"Even your subconscious registers me as worthy of nightmare." He grins.

"I suppose so." I mutter and rub my chilled arms down the hallway. He follows.

"What happened in your nightmare?" He further probes and I stop to shiver.

"Why?" I eye him cautiously.

"I just want to know." He tilts his head, his eyes dancing.

"You, um. You… killed… me." I murmur, entranced. I clutch the sides of my arms and peer up at my stranger. He stands close, but not too close.

"I killed you?" He repeats and I nod slowly.

"I couldn't move and there was this darkness. And you kept calling me toward you," I pause and neglect to include the kiss, blushing at my remembrance. "And then you killed me with a gun."

"Oh." His lips form a small _o_ and he blinks once.

I shrug. "It was just a dream…" There is a pause.

"Of course, silly Bella. Just a dream." At this, he places his palms on my shoulders and I freeze.

"So you… wouldn't kill me?" I squeak. A torn look flashes across his face and he sighs deeply, closing his eyes.

"Bella, I couldn't kill you at this point. Not even if I had to."

"What does that mean?" I furrow my brow and he reopens his beautiful, dangerous eyes to gaze at me.

"You look cold." He evades my question and slowly removes his hands from my shoulders.

"What does that mean?" I repeat and he begins to walk ahead of me.

"I have to go out." He chirps and I lunge forward to clutch his elbow.

"What does that mean?" I ask for the third time, my stubbornness oozing out. He gazes down at me and finally shakes his arm from my grip.

"It means I have to go out." He responds coolly, that mocking smile returning.

…………

"I'm not hungry." I object as Lillian pushes a bowl of cereal toward me. Her hair is in a pristine bun and she pulls her shawl closer around herself.

"It's freezing in here," She mutters to herself. My body agrees with her statement as the hairs on my arms rise against the cold. "And yes, you are." She speaks for me.

"But I already ate breakfast this morning." I refute.

"Yes. But it's breakfast time in America now. So eat up." She quips. I scowl and gingerly pick up the silver spoon. I poke at my meal, spilling the milk from the spoon back into the bowl, stabbing the unsuspecting pieces of cereal into mere grains.

"Where'd Andy go?" I question after shoveling down a bite.

"I knew you'd ask," She iterates dully and I turn crimson. "He's out."

"Oh." I needn't probe further; I won't find answers. She hums to herself for a moment and silently patters on the linoleum floors.

"Sleep well?" She finally issues and perches herself on the kitchen sink.

"No," I mumble. "I had a strange dream." I swirl the cereal, via spoon, in my bowl absentmindedly.

"Well, you certainly don't sleep well – day or night – in this lifestyle." I nod quietly and shove the spoon past my lips several more times.

"I slept fine last night." I run a nail along a groove in the wooden table.

"There you go. At least there's a balance." She leans back on her arms and idly gazes at the ceiling. More time passes in silence.

"Do you guys sleep?" I finally interrupt her fluffing her platinum locks. She gazes pointedly at me and lazily arches her lithe back.

"Not often." She admits absentmindedly. I ponder this.

"Then how do you function? What do you run off of? Coffee?" I fire a series of questions – a feat I wouldn't be able to achieve with my stranger. She too, ponders, and silently raises her head upright to land her turquoise eyes on mine.

"Fear," She says airlessly. "We run off fear."

"Fear?" I repeat. But she doesn't answer.

…………

"When are you taking me back?" I question absentmindedly as I watch the kamikaze rain droplets against the window.

"Whenever he gets back." Lillian hangs upside down on the sofa, watching a British sitcom. Her platinum tresses cascade down the length of the sofa, spilling over the cushions and piling as glinting honey somewhere in the middle.

"Do you know eachother's missions?" I ask politely and she shrugs.

"Sometimes." Although initially spiteful toward me, Lillian is gradually becoming the closest thing to a comrade in this shrouded world of espionage. The rain outside continues to wash the streets and I pull my knees to my chest.

"And I'm guessing you guys don't tell me anything?"

"Nope." She chirps and continues to watch her sitcom from the incorrect angle. I nod in silent acceptance, as the only noise that permeates the room is the laughter emitted from the television screen and the beat of the rain. This continues for some time, silence between the two of us, before she gracefully executes a backward tumble off of the sofa.

"Our dear Anthony is home." She smoothes down her hair as I gape.

"Huh? How did you know -" Perplexity consumes me as I follow her into the kitchen.

"Well?" She demands to my stranger, who is perched at the rickety wooden table. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," He smiles flawlessly and props his elbows up. "And how was your lazy day?" At this, his eyes connect with mine and I blink several times.

"Fine." I confirm with a quasi-nonchalant shrug.

"Good," He coos and redirects his attention toward Lillian. "Let me guess –"

"Jane would like to speak to you. Of course. Let's hope you did a good job this time." She rolls her eyes and turns to sashay out of the room.

"Well," I begin cautiously. "I hope you did a good job." He raises his eyebrows.

"Thank you, m'lady." A flicker of a smile flashes across his countenance before I blush. As we've done countless times in the past few days, we merely gaze at one another. That same, mocking glint shines in his eyes. Finally, I'm the one to avert my stare downward before he issues a merry chuckle.

"Here," Lillian impedes the moment by entering the kitchen, the familiar, silver laptop tucked under her arm. "A dose of J, coming right up. Oh, and by the way, Mary is stopping by in four minutes."

"Four?" I furrow my brow.

"Yes, four. If she says four, she _means_ four." Andy answers as he opens up the device. Once more, his angular, ivory face is washed in a dim lighting as he places his forefinger on a pad. _Scanning_, the computer issues. There are several beeps, and his face is now a sea of blue lighting. _Welcome, Mister Cullen_.

"Hello." He greets back sardonically and Lillian rolls her eyes. He briefly flashes that smile. _Contacting Headquarters. Sending transmission. Receiving feed_, the laptop continues.

"We named the computer Greta. She's charming, isn't she?" Lillian meets my eye and smiles musingly. Andy's sparing chuckles follow in suit.

"Why are you laughing, Cullen?" That familiar, venomous voice snaps. All laughter escapes my stranger's face and he sits up straighter.

"Afternoon, J." He greets politely, in all seriousness. The mocking glint has vanished.

"So?" She ignores the formalities with a quip. "Mission completed?"

"Yes." He nods rigidly.

"Good. Nice to see you've redeemed yourself," She coos, leaving me to wonder the extent of his task. "And Lillian?"

"Yes?" She lithely scrambles toward the laptop screen.

"Did you and Paul complete your mission at 02:00 hours?" Jane issues coolly.

"Completed, J." Lillian appears behind the shoulder of my stranger. I feel a pang of jealousy at their proximity.

"Grand," The venomous voice evades praise. "Oh, but Cullen?"

"Yes?" He snaps to attention.

"I'm placing you on another mission. Mary will debrief you."

"All right." He doesn't blink.

"So then we're done here." Jane snips and my stranger's face is no longer lit blue. He shuts the silver laptop and emits a light sigh before the tapping of light footsteps enters the atmosphere. From the shadows emerges a petite woman with strikingly childlike features. She sports a raven pixie crop, cerulean eyes and a fashion ensemble off the front cover of _Vogue_. As the other two, she is ivory skinned and beautiful.

"Who are you?" She immediately directs toward me in a pealing voice.

"I…" I turn to Lillian and Andy for some assistance, my eyes wide.

"Mary," My stranger greets warmly. "Have a seat." She blinks once at him and crosses her arms.

"What's going on here?" Her large eyes are now slits.

"It's a long story," Lillian issues apathetically and assesses her nails. "Just sit. We'll tell you." She grudgingly obliges and proceeds to apprehensively sit at the rickety table.

"I want to hear it from her, though." The raven-haired beauty quips and locks her eyes on mine. There is silence as all three agents await my response.

"I'm… Bella. Isabella Swan," I shift my weight. "I witnessed one of his missions, I believe…" I point to my stranger. "And he's been keeping me from the public so I can get deported." I bite my lip.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You _know_ that Jane won't just wipe her memory," Andy says in a low voice. "She'll kill her."

"I know that," She snaps. "But when are you deporting her?" Again, there is silence.

"I don't know, Mary," He admits quietly. "She's seen too much."

"How much?" Mary stares at me and a blush creeps up my cheeks.

"She's seen me kill a man. Or two," He pauses. "Or three."

"What? You've gone bloody mental. _Mental_! How the hell are you going to keep this away from Jane and the SOG?"

"I don't know. Maybe I am mental." He shrugs.

"Is she MI6?"

"No."

"One of ours?"

"No."

She narrows her eyes and hushes. "KGB."

"No."

"A covert-op agent at all?"

"Civilian." There is silence.

"Please," Mary sighs and rubs her temples. "The least you can do is tell me she's not a prostitute."

"I'm not a prostitute." I grit my teeth and she gazes at me.

Her lips break out into a smile. "Then what are you?"

"I'm… a student." I mumble.

"And why has our dear, thickheaded, Andy taken you in?"

"I don't know," I look at the floor. "I really don't know why I'm alive." There's a round of silence before Mary sighs.

"So then what? Do we deport her?"

"We'll try." Lillian impedes.

"And if not?"

"She said we'll try." Andy scowls and Mary makes a face at him.

"Well then," She rises fluidly from her seat. "I'm Mary." She glides toward me and offers her hand.

"I'm Bella." I shake it and she smiles.

"Cullen, you may be mental but I could see why you don't want to kill her off." She now patters toward him.

"And why's that?" He chuckles and I blush.

"Because you _like_ her." The pixie teases and rises on her toes to pinch his cheek.

"Ridiculous." He scoffs darkly and twists his way out of her mocking embrace.

"I called it. I completely called it." Lillian laughs.

"Don't be shy," Mary coos. "I'm happy your soul has emerged. You actually have _feelings_ for something." She throws her head back in laughter and giddily flits back toward the table. I've surpassed the shade of red.

"We're not _supposed_ to express any bit of emotion toward anything, Mary. But I'm sure Mister Hale is unaware of this." He refutes with a scowl.

"Oh. Well, no, he didn't get the memo." She responds dryly before issuing a ringing giggle. It slowly dawns on me that within this covert group of agents, there also happens to be friendship.

"How's HQ doing these days?" Lillian takes a seat next to her and idly fluffs her hair.

"It's a terrible experience, working alongside Satan's spawn, you know." Mary mutters in a half-whisper.

"I can only imagine." Lillian makes a face.

"In all seriousness, however, I need to debrief Cullen on a mission," Mary sighs and glances at me. "Are you sure Bella isn't going to turn on us here?"

"I wouldn't. I don't know anything." I bite my lip.

"Fine," She sighs. "I can tell you're trustworthy."

"How?" Lillian drums the tabletop.

"I just know. You've learned not to question my instincts." Mary mutters and leans back in her chair.

"Well? Debrief me." Andy rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms.

"J wants you to… Find someone…" She says in a strange tone.

"That's helpful." He issues dryly.

"You've tracked him before. But of course, you and I both know that the SOG has been unsuccessful in terminating him."

My stranger goes rigid, his face masking a countenance of ice. A flash of remorse trickles across Mary's face as Lillian averts her gaze to the ceiling. His muscles tense as he clenches his fists into balls.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it had to be you, Andy –"

"Stop." He growls, his green eyes glazed over. The two female agents are silent as we gaze at him. For a brief moment, his eyes meet mine, and during that second, he is the man from my nightmare. Anger and emotion pool within, boring into me.

"I told Jane not to send you –"

"I'll be fine." He snaps and his fists are still clenched. After a moment longer, he turns to glide silently out of the room, his frightening aura trailing behind.

"I honestly thought he'd handle it a lot worse." Lillian finally mutters.

Mary sighs. "I told Jane not to send him."

"Why was he so upset?" I whisper and the two agents exchange glances.

"He has to track down an agent by the codename of Sabretooth. We've yet to uncover his real name." Lillian finally speaks.

"Is he Russian?" I bite my lip and Mary nods slowly. "So then why did he get so angry?"

"It hits a nerve for him." She responds simply and I realize this is all I will learn.

"Stop talking about it." Andy storms into the room. I flinch at the presence of my realistic nightmare and Lillian rises.

"You deal with it, Mary," She presses her lips together and glides toward me. "Come, Bella." Her long fingers grasp my wrist lightly and she drags me behind her. I glance over my shoulder at my fuming stranger and an apprehensive Mary before stumbling after my captor.

"What's going on?" I whisper.

"You're staying here another night." Lillian has her back to me but moves steadily and gracefully up the flight up stairs.

"I mean… What's wrong with him?"

"You heard Mary. It hits a nerve."

"Does he… Know this guy? I mean –"

"Bella," She stops as we reach her bedroom. She peers at me with her striking eyes and breathes calmly. "You need to drop it. Don't ever mention it to him again, okay? I suggest you stay up here." She drops my wrist and I open my mouth to speak before I hear muffled arguing from downstairs.

"Why are they arguing?" I ask, alarmed.

"He wants Mary to get another agent." She sighs.

"Oh."

"Have another nap, Bella. This is really none of your business." Lillian attempts in an amicable tone.

"It's early." I pout.

She sighs again. "Look, he's going to have to go on the mission. It's headquarters orders and declining a mission is treason. I'm sure he isn't in the mood for eternal imprisonment so I would stay out of his way for at least tonight and tomorrow."

"Would this kill him?"

"Possibly." She mutters.

"Is that why he's upset?" I sit on the edge of the bed.

"No. In fact, I think he'd rather be dead."

…………

I wake to sweat pooling out of my pores. My head throbs and I groan as I prop myself up on my elbows. The steady ticking of the clock settles me as I slowly peel the blanket from my legs. Although too dark to read the time on the analog clock, my instincts accept the time as considerably late. I place a foot on the wooden floor, followed by the other. Ambling around in the dark, I find the light switch and flick it on. Before me is Lillian's un-tidied bed, quaint dresser and nightstand. I sigh. I make my way through the door, stumble several times down the spiraling staircase and feel my way, through the darkness, into the kitchen. Before I flick on the kitchen light switch, I freeze as the presence of someone.

"Who's there?" I whisper. And cautiously step forward. No response. After another step, I strain to peer. The hairs on my body rise as I turn to leave the kitchen, ambling my way through the long, dark corridor. When I reach the foyer, my instincts spike once more as I peer into the darkness of the parlor. Finally, I inch my way to the doorway, straining to gaze. And then, I see him.

He sits in darkness, hands clasped. My stranger stares at nothing in particular, yet it is possibly the darkness that intrigues him. Maybe it's his home. His face is shrouded in black, and I vaguely trace the outline of his body on a sofa. Attempting to amble silently, I fail, of course. His head snaps to his left as my big toe grazes the wooden floors, causing me to freeze.

"Hi." I finally greet. This dark rendezvous unsettles me. There is no response, unnerving me even further. However, I take a step forward. I can't make out his face, but I feel the ice radiating off his posture.

"How was your night?" I strain. A ridiculous question. No response, and I continue forth. It's apparent he is no longer gazing at me, a notion I've come to grudgingly accept. Darkness envelops us both as I trek my way toward my stranger, fighting both fatigue and fear by feeding my curiosity. At last, I reach the sofa and cautiously seat myself a safe distance from him. At this proximity, I note the rigidity of his jaw line, the glaze in his eyes, the coiled appearance of his posture. He does not meet my gaze as I drink in my shaken stranger, and a plethora of fear runs through my veins.

"What happened to you?" I whisper. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, my stranger appears to be… _trembling_. His rigid body shivers slightly and I alarmingly scoot closer to him.

"Talk to me." I beg and his shoulders hunch. He finds a particular fascination with the wall.

"I'm fine." He speaks inaudibly.

"No," I shake my head and inch closer. "What happened?" It's a whisper. He shakes his head and continues to gaze vapidly at the wall. And then I gasp. At a close range, my stranger's eye is swollen, his perfect face exhausted and beaten. Trails of purple outline his jaw, the cliff of his cheekbone and the emerald of his weary eye. I drink him in, my stomach churning all the while. There is silence as an internal battle ensues within me, and finally, a side I've been longing yet fearing all this time prevails. Slowly and meticulously, I raise my fingers and lightly touch his left shoulder. He flinches.

"Tell me." I plead softly and draw closer.

"No." His voice is airless. Albeit his objections, I place my palm on him.

"This isn't okay," I begin somewhat hysterically, "What happened, Andy? Something terrible happened, I know it did. It's that guy, isn't it? Sabretooth?" I grit through my teeth and he slowly turns his head to meet my gaze. Our bodies touch.

"Why do you need to know?" His breath is nearly as icy as his tone.

"I'm not going to relent." I declare adamantly and suck in as the dark bruising contrasts starkly with his ivory complexion.

"And I'm asking you to relent, just this once." His voice is masked in vulnerability and a wave of remorse washes over me.

"Did someone die?" I blurt and don't remove my hand.

"No." He says quietly.

"Andy –"

"Stop," He requests firmly and I bite my lip. In opposition, I run my hand across his shoulder and up the length of his neck, gingerly grazing the beginning trail of bruises. "_Don't_ touch me," He growls in a low voice. "Bella," He attempts to refute before closing his eyes. I cup his trembling jaw and he leans into my palm. "Don't touch me…" He whispers but doesn't shake me off. I ignore his verbal demands and lightly brush my thumb across his swollen temple.

"Shh."

"Don't…" He whispers.

"Andy." I say slowly and gently place his head onto my shoulder.

"Don't touch me," He says so softly; a whimper, "Don't." But his cheek is already pressed against my shoulder, a haven for him. As his forehead finds a home in the crook of my collarbone, I sigh and brush his hair. Electricity jolts through my veins at the vulnerability and proximity, and after who knows how long, I realize that this is a refuge for him; a sanctuary for my restless stranger to greet the rare embrace of sleep, to forget for a few hours. To finally rest from the perpetual nightmares of reality that he faces, rain or shine, day or night. This is his life, and I am his escapism.

* * *

**Holla back! It didn't take me 2 months to update!**

**I hope you enjoy it. I'll probably throw Jasper in during the next chapter**

**Happy reading, comrades**

**kisses, JennyCullen44**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight**

* * *

"…He… I know, I know. Stop looking at me like that…" Voices waft in the other room and my eyes flutter. My body and the furniture beneath me creak as I shift myself. I moan in fatigue, muttering incoherent strings of lingering sleep. After rubbing my eyes, I prop myself up onto my elbows while drinking the surroundings in. A stripe of buttery light splays across the parlor floor, the luminance oppressing my sleep-ridden eyes.

"Muh." I mutter and groggily rise onto my knees. I issue a yawn, long and lingering, as I wrap the white blanket tighter around my body. Wait… Blanket? I glance down at the polyester, my stomach doing a flip as my mind pieces the logistics together.

He left…

I fell asleep…

On the sofa? I inhale exhaustedly, scowling at the ridiculous antics of our… Relationship. The homey fireplace is unlit, the hearth splashed in sunlight. I sigh at the drawn curtains which battle the beams of the sun before I stand upright. The wooden floors are slippery beneath my bare toes and I curl them. That blanket wraps around the niches of my body and I'll be sure to thank him in the kitchen. So I amble there, tightening the blanket around myself. The long corridor leading to the agents' preferred rendezvous vicinity is no longer blackened by night, but on the contrary, is dimly lit with oil lamps.

"Oil lamps?" I issue a tiny yawn and blink my eyes twice. Lillian glances up from her crossword puzzle. Her blonde hair is tucked behind her ears as the raven-haired woman answers for me.

"Good morning! Oh, we pretend to be surreptitiously fantastic. It's not as if we're void of sass and class, too. No, I'm joking," She smiles and sips from her mug. "We don't like the electricity bill." Mary frowns.

"Good morning. But why?" I scratch my neck, puzzled.

"Less money to pay? No. You know, we need to have the shades drawn and a small amount of light permeating the place… The less of that we have, the happier off we are," She takes another guzzle from the mug. "Coffee?" She chippers and raises it.

"Yes, please." I issue a smile.

"Tea for me, if you please." That familiar, wonderful voice wafts from behind me. Two icy hands are placed are my shoulders and I jolt slightly. I crane my neck up to catch a glimpse, but the weight on my shoulders is lifted. He brushes past me, lingering the tips of his fingers for a second too long. They sweep off of my cotton tee as he glides toward the two beautiful women at the rickety table. My heart flutters a bit, and by tightening the blanket around myself, I somehow think this will bind the velocity. Mary rises as he sits, yet the agent is careful not to meet my eye.

"Pyramid Scheme." He issues monotonously.

"Hm?" The raven-haired woman glances up from the coffee maker. The black liquid drips as she drums her fingertips atop the counter, and even the beautiful blonde glances up at him.

"Ponzi's plan. Pyramid Scheme. 41 across." He nods and points to a spot on Lillian's crossword puzzle sheet. She smiles slightly, etching in the correct answer.

"Thanks, dear," She mocks and furrows her brow at the other hints. "Stop bath?" She glances up and trails her blue eyes across all of ours.

"Acetic. Alkaline." I blurt and all the agents glance at me.

"Acetic works. Thank you." She smiles briefly and touches the tip of her yellow pencil to the box.

"I like a smart girl. How'd you know?" Mary grins and flits to me with a steaming cup of coffee. I accept it graciously with a smile of my own.

"I'm a photo student," I sniff the nectar. "Was." I wince.

"She's really very good." My stranger impedes and turns to the two of us. My cheeks reach a shade of pink and I glance down into my mug.

"Oh? What do you shoot?" Mary purses her lips and flits over to the stove. "And really, Andy, can't you make your own tea?" She smiles slightly and spins the kettle atop the stove.

"Oh, but, my dear. You're right there! What a waste of needed kinetic energy it would be if you were to come here and I were to gallivant over there." He grins charmingly and she rolls her eyes.

"People. I shoot people." I run a hand through my hair and make eye contact with Mary. She smiles.

"Lovely."

I nod.

"Have a seat, Bella." My stranger offers and after a moment, I reluctantly oblige. I amble toward the table and plop down in a seat across from him and Lillian. When we make eye contact for the first time, I gasp lightly. No longer in darkness, now presented in the light, his left eye is purple, laced with a shining contusion. It rims his eye, the emerald pupil standing out against the dark mark. His pale skin does not react well to his bruise, and they don't cease. They trail across his temple, down his jaw line, down his pallid neck… His angular face is haggard. Exhausted. Beaten.

"I –" I gape.

"Hello to you, too, Bella." He smiles crookedly and I duck my gaze.

"I'm sorry. It's rude to stare." I mumble and cup my mug awkwardly.

"Here's your tea." Mary chippers and sets an olive cup and plate before him. She ruffles his hair lightly and flits into the seat in between us.

"Thank you, thank you." He raises the cup and places it against his lips. Lillian sniffs and scratches her neck while boring into the puzzle. The tiny family of agents settles the gradual death of my nervousness, thus, I settle deeper into my chair. We all proceed to do our respective businesses in silence. I sip my coffee, Andy sips his tea, Mary spaces out at a groove in the table and Lillian scratches her pencil tip across the boxes. I sneak glances at my stranger over the rim of the cup, wondering aloud why the two women have not commented on his hurt.

"Do you… Um, do you need ice for that?" I finally point to his countenance and bite my lip. Mary snaps out of her trance and he sets his cup down.

"I'm fine." He blinks slowly and I furrow my brow.

"I think you need ice." I refute stubbornly and the raven-haired pixie purses her lips. She glances from me to him, him to me.

"Let Bella take care of you." She says slowly and winks. I blink twice, unsure of whether or not I should continue with her insinuation.

He scowls. "Oy, leave it be. I'm fine." Yet at this moment, he goes rigid. Mary pokes him.

"Spit it out." She demands. I bite my lip, awaiting some tidbit of news.

"Someone is here." He mutters and rises swiftly from the rickety table. At this point, Lillian glances up from her crossword.

"How do you know that –" I blink.

"Here, take mine." Mary rises as well and fishes for an object within her humble overcoat. She brandishes a black revolver and slaps it into her comrade's palm.

"Such a doll," He flickers a smile and cocks the gun. I flinch. "Well ladies, if you would be so kind to excuse me." He flourishes the gun in a waving manner and strides out of the room.

"What happens now?" I whisper, wide eyed.

"We wait." Lillian shrugs and dives back into her puzzle. Moments pass, but the absence of a gunshot begins to settle my nerves. I sip my mug compulsively, eyeing the doorframe and squinting to see down that long, dim corridor. Mary folds her hands tensely atop the table, and somewhere in the distance, a clock ticks. Seconds, minutes. The mockery of time and anticipation. And then, the silence is broken.

"What a party." A booming voice enters the kitchen. It's laden with a thick Irish accent, and I exhale at the oafish man I've met twice before; Paul. My stranger follows, a crooked grin plastered on his face, and he lobs the gun at Mary. She catches it, blows a quick, coquettish kiss and stuffs it back into her coat.

"A smashing party." I mutter with fatigue and guzzle my coffee.

"Ay, Bella. Tired girl, I see. Would you like some Whiskey with that? Irish coffee. It's how we do it back home. It'll wake you right up." He winks and I choke down a laugh.

"Oh, no. No thank you." I smile and shake my head.

"O'right. But I may go for some." He yawns loudly and paws his way past my stranger. And after a longer glance at him, I discover the charming oaf is filthy. He's covered in scratches and dirt, his countenance sooty. His beige coat is shred and caked in dried mud, and the fingerless gloves on his hands are worn thin. Paul fluffs his mass of curls up, and at this moment, Lillian glances up from her puzzle. She gasps lightly.

"Look at how filthy you are!" She scowls and rises from her seat.

"Lilly, baby." He grins, his smile white against his dirty countenance. He snatches a mug from the sink and begins to fiddle with the coffeemaker.

"You look a mess. Come, we'll get you cleaned up." She sighs and tugs at his elbow.

"I need my fix first, darling." He laughs loudly. It's infectious, a pandemic. His dimpled smile paints one upon all of us, and after shaking my head at his antics, I realize, for the first time, that my stranger is not standing alone. Beside him is a tall, honey-blonde man. He has his arms crossed over blue and white rugby jersey, and the eyes in his head are a pale blue. His mouth is a straight line, his nose sharp, his face betraying his stance; looking no older than eighteen. The blonde man has a faint yet long scar running from the outer corner of his right eye, running jagged until hitting his cheekbone.

"Hi." I bite my lip. Paul and Lillian cease their antics at the coffeemaker, his mug in the air above her head as she grabs for it.

"Hello." The blonde man nods slightly.

"Oh, I'm being rude, aren't I?" My stranger smiles that lovely smile and takes a step forward. "Bella, this is our shooter: JJ. JJ, Bella."

"JJ," I repeat dubiously. "Nice to meet you."

Mary sputters a laugh. "It's a nickname."

"Hello, Bella." JJ nods once more, rigidly.

"I've already informed him of our… Situation here." My stranger purses his lips and glances at his comrade.

"Look, we don't have much time, here," The blonde sighs and strides toward the table. Mary glances up at him with large eyes, and the two at the coffeemaker make their way toward the round table. "As you all know by now, our attempt was incomplete several days ago. Last night, Cullen and I were tracking down… Well," He coughs once. "You know. Unfortunately, he may have tracked _us_." He frowns.

"Then get the girl out of here." Paul impedes raucously and all eyes turn to me.

"Shit," Mary mutters under her breath. "Shit, shit."

I grip my mug. "Just tell me what to do." I inhale shakily and blink.

"But where do we take her?" JJ rubs his temples and glances at my stranger. "I swear to all that is holy, Cullen. This is a mess. She shouldn't be here," He sighs and shakes his head. "Nevermind, it's too late to point fingers now. The objective is to get Bella here out of Lillian's place."

"We'll just take her back to mine." My stranger says in a low voice and all heads turn to him.

"What? He probably knows where you live, E-, Andy." He frowns.

"Good. Then him and I can have a nice, wholesome chat over supper."

…….

I've upgraded to the passenger seat. A miracle. A disbelief. Well, decent enough, disregarding the tinted and bulletproof windows. The car reeks of leather and metal, and I nestle into the expensive seat.

"They won't be far behind." My stranger starts the ignition and revs the engine. I smile meekly and tuck my hair behind my ears as he accelerates. The vehicle runs smoothly, particularly while not lying in the fetal position _a la _backseat. I hum lightly to break the silence, yet cease when he makes a sharp turn.

"The only problem," He mutters. "Is that we may run into some friends."

"Who?" I blink. And of course, he doesn't answer. We drive in silence for a bit, but as he's shifting gears, his hand briefly brushes my knee. I melt. I sneak glances at his profile via my peripheral, but as always, he is stone faced.

"Shit." He enunciates the word and his green eyes narrow slightly.

"What? What?" I sit up straighter and glance around outside. The city is gray, the surroundings gray, the people gray. Everything is gray but the familial agents. And him. Him.

"Bella," He begins quickly. "Open the glove compartment." I do as I'm told, popping the glove box and quickly finding a pistol inside.

"Okay?" I bite my lip, my eyes growing wide.

"Listen, Bella. JJ is going to try to shoot, but he's too far back. I need you," He inhales through his nose. "To load the gun."

I stare at him dubiously. "You want me to load a gun?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Please just do it," He begs quietly and I glance down at the pistol in my lap. "The ammunition is in the compartment." I bite my lip, my heart pumping at a rapid speed. My trembling hand reaches into glove box and my fingers feel around for the cartridge. After several frantic seconds, I snatch it into my hand and hold it up to my nose. The rounds are in place and swiftly, so very swiftly, I snap the clip into the gun.

"H-here." I tremble and hold the pistol in my outstretched palm.

"Thank you. Calm down, love. Calm, okay?" He assuages quietly and my stomach does a flip. "I need you to cock it." My eyes trail down to the weapon in my hand, and with blood rushing to my ears, I mimic what I've witnessed him and hundreds of other Hollywood agents on the silver screen do. I cock the pistol, pulling the top back and letting it snap back in an automatic place.

"Done." I swallow dryly and attempt to cease my shaking.

"Okay –" But he cannot finish, for a round of gunshots explodes in the background. I jump in my seat and he slams the accelerator, the speedometer reaching a speed of… _What's the conversion_… 80 mph? The engine growls and groans as we zip through the gray streets. Another round of gunshots goes off, and this time, a single bullet cracks the back window of the vehicle. I squeak.

"Okay, who should I shoot?" I question frantically. He chuckles.

"I think I'll handle the shooting." He swerves around a corner, the tires nearly losing traction. I sway to my right, my chin brushing his shoulder before I'm jerked back into place.

"So then take the gun!" I yell and thrust the pistol into his chest.

"Then you drive." He frowns and snatches up the handle.

"How?" I demand frantically.

"Take hold of the wheel." He iterates and leans over to click the button to my seatbelt. I'm liberated, yet at this moment, another bullet creates a larger crack in the window. I duck slightly and thrust myself onto the wheel, over his lap. If not for the urgency of this situation, I'd be red. But there is no time for timidity when bullets are chewing up the car you're in. I drive the English car, praying to myself that I'll somehow weave through the streets when everything is heading in the _opposite_ direction.

"It's on the opposite side of the car." I scowl and swerve away from a parallel-parked Mini.

"Get used to it," He responds simply and presses a button. The tinted window on the driver's side is lowered automatically, and my stranger leans out. I squeak as we hit a pothole, bouncing down and then back up again. "Keep the car steady, Bella." He growls from outside and I scowl.

"I'm _trying_." I blow a red light, and instinctively cringe at what my father would think. A shot is fired, the noise blowing up in my eardrums. It was Andy's. There is a screech from behind us and I bite my lip, attempting to avoid a streetlamp which stands so obnoxiously in the way of my learning how to drive stick shift on the opposite side of the car. I shift gears, increasing our speed, and the engine roars. My stranger fires several more shots and I glance briefly in the rearview mirror. A black vehicle follows close behind, two men behind the windowpane. Their window is cracked three times, and I bounce nervously in my seat.

"Oh God, oh God, Daddy, don't kill me." I beg to the sky and blow through another light. I dink the side mirror of a parked Audi, cringing all the while. Another shot is fired at us and I instinctively hunch my shoulders. I hear my stranger's frustrated growls from outside the window as he fires off another bullet, and after a glance in the rearview mirror, I see it hit the front left tire. It blows off, the chunks of rubber flying off onto the side of the road. People in the streets run for cover and I shift gears again, dinking the occasional car, causing sparks to fly.

"Where's JJ?" I question frantically as a swerve away from a running pedestrian.

"He's catching up to them," He responds gruffly. "Bella, I'm running out. I need you to get me another round." He fires off another bullet and retracts himself back inside the vehicle. I widen my eyes. He takes the wheel for a moment as I fish around in the glove compartment. I brandish another clip the moment he disposes of his empty one. I snap it into place for him, and as he grabs it from my hand, his fingers brush mine for a moment. I'd love to harp on these things, but I cannot. I'm once again, on the wheel, attempting not to run ourselves into buildings. My stranger fires a brand new shot, and this time, he hits the right front wheel of our oppressor. The vehicle spins out of control, completely a 180 turn before skidding into a row of parallel-parked cars. The side smashes the cars, denting in creating large sparks from the road's friction. Another vehicle pops into view; Lillian's yellow Lamborghini.

"That's JJ and Lilly." My stranger pops back into the car and raises the tinted window. He grins and stuffs the gun into his peacoat, taking the wheel before planting a quick kiss on my cheek. I burn with red and shift back into place.

"You're fantastic." He thanks me and places his hands on the wheel. We continue to weave in and out of traffic, the yellow sports car serving as a buffer.

"How far until home?" I ask, wide-eyed.

"A couple minutes." He declares and I exhale exhaustedly. We drive for another moment, in shocking silence. My heart thumps from the adrenaline, the hot blood pounding in my ears. Yet the moment my circulation system takes it down a notch, he accelerates.

"Again?" I squeak and he shakes his head.

"They're going to track us. We can't waste anytime." He says through his teeth and plows through the streets. We curve around sharp corners, jerking out of place then back in, bouncing in and out of potholes. I grip the sides of my seat, potentially holding on for life through his monstrous driving. And thanks to this driving, we are out of the car in a minute's time. I stumble out, nearly tripping, when he is aiding me. A gunshot is fired and we duck, running up the concrete steps.

"Get inside, Bella. Inside!" He orders, his voice rising. I attempt to sprint past the door, yet in the process, I trip over my two feet. My stranger catches me by the elbow, the joining of our bodies sending a jolt of electricity through both of us. I squeak as I nearly plant my face onto concrete, and with a growl, he yanks me upright and we fly through the doorframe. He slams it shut, locking the 208 locks and codes. He punches several buttons in a strained manner. _Voice identification required_. A monotonous robot speaks.

"Cullen." He growls in a low voice.

_Voice identification accepted. Beginning security lockdown._ The voice chippers and his face is immediately washed away in a red light. The noise of a hundred snapping locks instigate, as well as several booms going off from the heart of the apartment.

"I tried." I attempt hotly. He turns to me, anger flashing across those green eyes.

"I knew this was a mistake. God damnit." He turns and strides ahead of me.

"We're alive, aren't we?" I mutter and cross my arms. I amble past him, shouldering him, through the doorway.

"Bella, I'm deporting you. Gaining effect immediately in first light of tomorrow." He seethes and I storm through the kitchen. I fling my jacket off, chucking it blindly at the island counter. The metal of the buckles whacks the marble with a thud before sliding onto the wooden floors.

"You said it was too dangerous." I fume and cut short in front of the bedroom. I wheel around on my heel to face him, steam rolling out of my eyes.

"Yes, but now it is too dangerous to keep you here." He refutes hotly and folds his arms. I mimic his action and grit my teeth.

"Then give me my film back. Send me home. Do it." I snap and he narrows his eyes.

"I'll do just that." He growls in a low voice.

"So is this it?" I demand fiercely, my eyes blazing. He stands inches from me and anger flashes across his gorgeous eyes.

"Isn't this what you want?" He snaps and I cross my arms.

"Then I guess that's it." I hide my heartbreak. Dominance radiates from my pores, throbbing in our tiny atmosphere.

"Fine." He issues coolly.

"Christ, you're –" But there is a flash before his lips are pressed hard against mine, an experience I've been dreaming of for too long. They're soft but work furiously against my own as he spills his frustration into me, and I return the same. He wraps his arms around my waist, pressing himself into me as he pushes me backward. Nearly tripping, my head makes contact with the wall at moderate force as he proceeds to nip my lower lip. In exchange, I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and moan lightly. The mere sound ignites an aggressive spark within him, to my ecstasy, and he slips his tongue between my lips. His and mine ensue into a tangled battle of desire and passion, and somehow my hands are already undoing the buckle of his belt. The metal clinks as I blindly fidget, and after pulling it from the loops, the belt hits the wooden floors with a clang. In retaliation, he kisses me harder and I sigh, entwining my fingers within his tresses of glorious hair. His hands move from my back to the hem of my blouse, lifting it above my head. It too lands on the floor with a flap. The battle in my mouth ceases as he trails his kisses across my cheek and down my neck, planting them softly in certain places yet nipping in others. Shivering in pleasure, I sigh shakily and find the hem of his own shirt. Its off in a matter of seconds, floating downward between us, meshing with my discarded, blue blouse on the floor. His kisses are trailed upward as he finds my mouth once again, and this time, it is I who begins the war of tongues. I feel his smile on my lips as I run my hands across the planes of his abdominal region, fulfilling my physical desire for him. And then, he brings his left hand to cup my face, entwining his fingers within my mass of hair. His right hand creeps up my spine, toying with the clasp of my bra before effortlessly unclasping it. I moan and let it drop, allowing it to join the other articles of clothing on the floor. I rewind my fingers within his hair, locking them there, as he kisses me even harder. Then, he withdraws his hand from my face and lifts a leg to wrap around his waist. The other follows suit as I cling on to him, not breaking our kiss. He leads us, disregarding the darkness, into what I assume is the bedroom. He lays me on the bed, our kiss still not broken, and presses himself on top of me.

"Do you," He pants into my mouth. "Have any idea," He lowers his hands toward the waistband of my jeans. "How badly I've wanted you?"

Emotion and desire jolt through my veins, yet the latter prevails for the moment. "Stop talking." I demand through kisses and reach for the button on his khakis.

…….

I wake up to darkness, so befitting that I emit a sigh. A slight buzzing echoes from the radiator in the far corner, causing my eyes to droop at the heartbeat of night. He sleeps, smooth skin, pearly white, in the darkness. He rises with his breathing, a tune also melodically pealing in this silence. I inch toward him, palm outstretched as I desire to lace my fingers with the touch of ice. Black ice. His back is cream and milk as I run my hand down the planes of muscle, the vertebrae with slopes and bumps. Down a straight line, tracing the geography of his spine laced with that familiar frost. He stirs, the man of ice and a cloak of shadow wrapped with him. I flip onto my stomach, my topless torso now hidden beneath the sea of night's polyester. One eye peaks out at him, who groggily rolls over to face me. The stream of air is shallow and steady against my lips. I raise my fingertips and trace his face: the slope of his nose, the cliffs of his cheekbones. The right-angle jaw, so sharp, it could slice you. And finally, his lips. Those icy lips. His eyes flutter, adjusting to the shroud of night, before gazing at me. I hold my breath and my heart, awaiting anything in this sea of black.

"Bella?" He mumbles, that faux accent still in place.

"Yes?" I respond, my voice caked in spanning desire.

"Shit," He mutters to himself and begins to hoist himself upright. "Shit. I'm so sorry, Bella. Shit, this was a mistake." He murmurs and I latch a hand onto his arm. It's defined, silk and brawn.

"Why?" I demand.

"Because I shouldn't have gotten you involved with me. It was bad enough before, but now we're… We're…" He trails and I tug his arm.

"Come back down here." I coo sleepily and rest my head somewhat near his torso. My lids are heavy, half-open, windowpanes in alliance with the beast of voluntary neglect. There is no movement before he shifts and reluctantly returns to the pillow with me. His face is shrouded in darkness, just as it always has. Day or night. My stranger, my one and only stranger. Our breaths mingle and I can taste the sunshine in his…

"This isn't a good idea, Bella. Being… Involved like this." He murmurs in a low voice.

"Shush." I inch toward him. Despite the reluctance in his voice, he curls an arm around my bare waist.

"Bella." He says bluntly.

"_Shush_." I smile and bite his lip so hard that I taste blood.

"Ouch," He whispers delicately and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. I help him – to his amusement. "Aren't you a tiger? And to think I always sought you out as a kitten." He muses and presses his hand into the small of my back.

"I'm no kitten." I pout and run a hand across his chest.

"Yes, you are." He teases and I shift closer to him. Our bodies touch, causing a spark to pulsate down the length of me.

"Am not." I snake my arms around his neck.

"Here, kitty, kitty." He grins and I scowl. Regardless, I entwine my fingers into his mass of hair and trail soft kisses down his jaw line. He skims a hand across my stomach.

"I'm here." I coo as his hand continues to rub my belly. He laughs.

"You're such a darling. Much too tempting to stay away from." He ceases and drags his hand lightly across my waist, finally landing with the other on the small of my back.

"Oh?" I murmur and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck.

"Yes, yes, you wild vixen." He bubbles with glorious laughter, throwing his head back slightly. I smile into the cream of his skin.

"I'm really not one." I retract to gaze into his shadowed face.

"By day, no. But when night dawns upon us, you transform… From a kitten to a tiger." He laughs once more. Even his amusement is laced with sunshine.

"Well," I muse and re-tangle my fingers into his tresses. "It still is nighttime…" I pin his head down, rolling on top of him and issuing a small smile.

"It is." He agrees and places his hands on my waist. I duck my head down, placing my lips onto his. I work against him as he works against me, my late night desire consuming the best of me. I develop a new hunger, one that has been bottled, caged, for the however many hours I've known him. He's lovely. Day or night. I smile and moan as his hands move up my body, his fervor nearly equaling my own. I'd stay in bed for days with the man who tastes of icy sunshine.

"Okay," He pants in between kisses. "You need to stop and get your rest." I silence him for a moment longer before reluctantly ceasing.

"You do too." I argue before he gently rolls me off of him. In a flash of a second, I'm encased in his arms, however.

"No, I don't. But you honestly do." He teases and plants a lingering kiss on my neck. I shiver.

"Fine. See you in the morning." I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut in the land of ecstasy.

"I'll be there." He presses his lips to my ear before issuing in a quasi-inaudible American accent. The sweat on my back freezes, my heart with it. My fingers curl around him, my breathing becomes short and condensed. Possibilities, questions and thoughts ram my mind, laced with fear and uncertainty. The man I don't know further plunges into a shroud of mystery, my own identity with it. He licks my earlobe, a smile on his lips as he understands what he's done; to have unburdened himself with a federal secret. He breaks the law, just this once, in the shadows. To me. To me? And slowly, so very slowly, the blood in my veins begins to flow once more. My breathing returns to a normal pace and I place a hand on his neck.

"You better." I whisper before the windowpanes of my lids shut, welcoming the seemingly perpetual darkness of shadowed sleep.

* * *

**Oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry for the late update! You see, I suffer from this thing**

**called Writer's Block. I'm also a victim of my parents. Honestly. My math grade wasn't what one**

**would call phenomenal, so I've convinced them I'd like to be a writer. Fat chance of that, by hey, I'm a teenager.**

**I try to wriggle my way out of things. Now, they've enrolled me in a plethora of writing classes so I'm bogged down with that**

**_and_ finals. I have my French exam on Friday. Kill me. Thanks... Oh, and thanks for reading!**

**kisses, JC44**


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